In and Out of Harmony
by Colleen
Summary: <html><head></head>A year and a half before his father died and he went home to sell the mine, Tom met up with two hunters in a motel. My Bloody Valentine/Supernatural crossover.</html>
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke, Warner Brothers and quite possibly others who are not mentioned here. My Bloody Valentine belongs to Lionsgate and no doubt others as well. No money will be made from this fan fiction.

Author's note: This is what you get when you watch every existing episode of Supernatural, topped with a viewing of My Bloody Valentine. I hope it will entertain.

BTW: Supernatural wise, this is probably set in fourth season, between The Monster at the End of this Book and Jump the Shark. And just so you know, this story is more from a My Bloody Valentine POV than the Supernatural one, although both sides are there.

Warning: Massive spoilers for My Bloody Valentine and probably some for Supernatural.

Summary: A year and a half before his father died and he went home to sell the mine, Tom met up with two hunters in a motel. There's no way that reality could stay the same after that.

In and Out of Harmony

By Colleen

Chapter One

Tom looked around at the crappy motel room and with a loud thud, dropped one of his duffle bags on the floor near the door and tossed the second one onto the middle of the bed. Half asleep, he staggered over and sat down on edge of the queen-sized mattress, cradling his face in his hands for a moment, before rubbing at it vigorously. Three different motels, in three different towns, in four days and he still did not know what he was running from. But then, he'd never really been sure what he'd been trying to escape when he'd left home all those years ago. Sure, there had been the utter nuclear meltdown of a mistake he'd made that had continued spreading death and misery in an ever widening circle around him. Combined with his father's overbearing criticism and distain that would have been enough to break most men. It had broken him.

Three days after he'd expected to die on the pickaxe of the monster he'd help create, Tom Hanniger had left his hometown of Harmony, Missouri. He gave up his friends, his family, such as it was, and the girl he loved. A year and a half of running had followed. The problem was, he was trying to escape his own anger and fear with frustration and guilt always along for the ride. They would never go away. Never leave him in peace. Added to that mix of emotion was an odd disconnect, one that often left him feeling like he was a stranger in his own body. It had eventually led him to taking his frustrations out on everyone and everything around him.

After close to a dozen altercations with police and hospital staff, from a number of cities across two states, he'd ended up institutionalized. He'd spent the last seven years of his life going in and out of psych clinics and a variety of state run sanatoriums. This time out, he'd packed his bags and left as soon as he'd been released. He was one state over by noon the next day, but that hadn't been far enough. He was now close to half way across the country from where he'd started, and he suspected he wasn't done with running just yet.

The day's drive had been long and he was tired, but too mentally wired to sleep. Hoping it would help him unwind, Tom snagged the remote off the night table next to the bed and hit the on button, bringing the television to life. He let the noise wash over him for a moment, his brain unable to make sense of the sound until it became all to clear.

"A little over eight and a half years ago, the town of Harmony was rocked by one of the most horrifying murder sprees ever seen on American soil. On February 14th, Valentine's Day, a day that most people equate with chocolate and flowers and a romantic evening with the one they love, the people of Harmony were treated to terror and blood and the deaths of 22 of their loved ones."

Tom looked at the screen, numb horror etched onto his face. He fumbled with the unfamiliar remote for a moment before managing to hit the right button and shut off the sensationalized account of the parts of his life he'd never be able to put behind him. He winced as he realized that the occupants of the room next to his must be watching the same program. The narrator's well-modulated tones were leaking through the shared wall. Thankfully, the sound was blunted enough that the words could no longer be understood. With a groan he dragged one of the pillows out from under the covers and lying down, wrapped it around his head to muffle the sound. He closed his eyes, willing his brain to shut down in the hope that he could block out everything for a few hours and just sleep.

Just before he blacked out, he remembered that he'd forgotten to take his pills.

* * *

><p>"Seriously dude, we don't have enough crap in our lives, you have to add to it by watching stuff like this?"<p>

Sam frowned up at his brother, and then pointedly ignored him in favour of the crime documentary on the television. Dean rolled his eyes, before grabbing his keys off the dresser where he'd dumped them when they'd first arrived at the motel. "Fine, I'll go get us some supper, and hope for this thing to be over by the time I get back." He was just reaching for the door handle when the blade of a pickaxe punched its way through the wood at eye level, causing Dean to jerk out of the way. Sammy was up and armed with a sawed off shotgun by the time his brother had taken another step back.

The pickaxe came out of the door with a shower of splinters. Instead of using it to attack the slab of wood again, its wielder expedited matters with the simple application of his foot to the spot just under the lock.

The door burst open and Sam levelled his shotgun at the intruder while Dean pulled out a pearl handled forty-five from where he kept it tucked into the back of his jeans.

Their door crasher looked to be about six feet tall or so and aside from a knitted black face mask and the pickaxe, was dressed in a style similar to the two brothers. The man took a menacing step forward and Sam fired. He was actually surprised that guy turned out to be solid and not a ghost. The rock salt the gun was loaded with staggered the man and ripped small bloody holes into his shirt. He looked down at the mess, surprise and confusion evident even through the mask. The guy stumbled forward one more step and then collapsed, narrowly missing the chance to impale himself on his own weapon.

Dean lowered his gun by a millimetre, looking from the form on the floor and then back to his brother.

"What the Hell?"

Sam shook his head at his brother's question and using his foot, flipped their assailant over onto his back. With Dean covering him, he reached down and pulled off the man's mask.

"Son of a bitch. A shape-shifter. I freaking hate shape-shifters, especially when they decide to go and look like me." Figuring that the gun wouldn't be much use, Dean flicked the safety on and tucked it into the back of his jeans, before moving over to a duffle bag that was sitting on one of the room's chairs.

"Silver knife, silver knife… come on, I know I put one in here."

Sam moved to glance over at his brother, his gaze sliding past the television before his mind reported what it had just seen. His eyes returned to the screen, riveted to the crime show he had just been watching. "Dean?"

"Hah, found it."

"Dean!"

"What?"

Sam just pointed at the television.

"Three days after his near brush with death at the hands and pickaxe of Harry Warden, Tom Hanniger simply disappeared. To this day, no one in Harmony has heard from him."

The picture of the guy shown during that bit of narration was Dean's spitting image. A younger than now Dean of course, since the picture was old, but still… Both men looked down at the doppelganger on the floor and then back at each other, eyebrows raised.

* * *

><p>When Tom came to, he was on a bed and handcuffed by his right wrist to the metal frame. This, sadly, was all too familiar. As far as he could recall he had woken in this position at least three times before. Each one of them had occurred after a black out period that had resulted in violence and his quick return to the nearest psychiatric facility the county hospital could send him to.<p>

Guess he hadn't run far enough.

"So, you're Tom."

He sighed and opened his eyes, turning to look at the questioner who sat on his right side. He stared at the man in uncomprehending terror, before his eyes rolled up into his head and he was once again, unconscious.

"Good going Dean."

Dean gave his brother, who was sitting on the other bed, a slight growl. "Shut up."

* * *

><p>A few minutes later and the second time Tom came to, he found he was still handcuffed to the bed. There was also a fresh hell added to the situation by a high-pitched screech going off in his left ear.<p>

"Well, the EMF hates him. I'd say he's definitely being haunted. It's probably why the rock salt put him down, it temporarily disrupted whatever was controlling him."

Tom cracked one eye open, relieved to see that the guy that had just spoken was in no way familiar to him. He had longish hair and a worried expression on his face and looked to be a few years younger than Tom. He was probably also taller, although that was a little hard to tell when he was lying down on a bed and the other guy was sitting.

"Where am I?" Ah yes, his standard first question for each time he'd entered a new institution.

Someone on his other side answered him. "You're in our motel room, which is next to your motel room." Tom swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. Given the handcuffs, that response was so much worse than finding out he was back in another mental ward. He turned his head to his right, tracking the voice that had just spoken.

"Don't faint."

He squeezed his eyes shut. This was it, he had completely lost it. His doctor at the last place had been worried that he had dissociative personality disorder given the headaches, memory loss and the one time he'd been stupid enough to tell the man that he sometimes felt he was watching his body do things from outside of it. Still, he never expected to find himself sitting beside himself after having handcuffed himself to a bed in a cheap motel room.

He groaned at that last convoluted thought, surprised that it hadn't given him a headache for its sheer level of crazy.

"Hey… Want to tell us about this?"

Tom opened his eyes and then jerked back, trying to move away from his look-alike as quickly as possible, only to be brought up short by the handcuff. He, the man… himself… whatever he was... He was holding up a pickaxe.

He was sure that, under the hyperventilating, he wasn't all that surprised that he was about to kill himself with that particular miner's tool. Eight and a half years later and he'd never felt he had escaped that fate.

"Dean, you're not helping."

"What? He's the one that almost killed us with this thing."

Tom shook his head. "That isn't mine, there is no way in hell I would own one of those."

"Uh, actually," The longhaired guy said, a slightly apologetic expression on his face. "We checked your room. The receipt for it was in the duffle bag by the door. You bought it from a hardware store two days ago."

"No… That's…" Tom blinked, the brief memory of standing in a store, hefting the pickaxe up by one hand and smiling came to him.

Pain slammed him in the chest.

Gasping, he slapped his free hand to the area, noticing for the first time since he'd woken up that there were blood specked holes in his shirt and some serious corresponding pain. Pain that was already fading down to a dull ache.

"Sorry about that." His double… or whatever he was, said. "The rock salt you got hit with is probably the only thing keeping you, you at the moment. Probably hurts like Hell every time Pickaxe tries to take over though."

Tom looked from one of the men to the other. "What are you talking about?"

"Well," the younger guy said. "We kind of think that… You may have a ghost attached to you."

"Yeah, it's not a total possession, not yet anyway. Give it another year or two though, and you probably wouldn't have been you anymore."

Tom nodded. "Uh, huh. You're nuts, you know that, don't you?"

The two guys just stared at him. The one that looked like him held up a sheet of paper that took Tom all of a couple of seconds to recognize as the release form from the last institute that he'd been a guest of. These guys had gotten into a lot more than just his duffle bag near the door.

Tom rubbed at his forehead in the vain hope that it would help with the headache that was now taking over for the chest pains. "Yeah, guess that makes us three for three in the crazy category."

"Want to tell us what happened to you and … what was his name?" His double shot the question over Tom's head, to his friend.

"Harry Warden."

Tom swallowed. "Why, so you can tell me to suck it up and get over it." He winced. Why did he always come back to his father's not so helpful last words of advice?

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of, so we could gank this ghost and maybe give you your life back."

Tom laughed. "Nothing's going to get that back for me."

Dean shrugged. "Maybe not, but it's got to be better than what you have right now."

Tom shook his head, but it wasn't a no, it was more of an 'I can't believe I'm going to do this'.

"Okay."

* * *

><p>He told them about his family's mine, and about his screw up. About how his carelessness had caused the accident that had trapped those men. He admitted his responsibility in their deaths, because even if Warden hadn't tried to save his own life by murdered them, they would have suffocated long before help could have gotten to them.<p>

Tom was very good at talking about this part of the story. He had told it in therapy often enough. He wasn't so good at the rest of the story. A year after the events at the mine, Harry Warden came out of the coma he was in and slaughtered himself a twisted path through the hospital he woke up in. Somehow, he'd made his way from there to the old number five tunnel, where the original accident had happened. As far as anyone could tell, he'd probably entered that semi-abandoned section of the mine through one of the emergency exits. Any other day it wouldn't have been much of a problem, but that day some of the town's kids were using it to hold a party.

"A party? In that place?"

Tom shrugged at Dean. "Yeah, it wasn't my idea of a good time either, not after what had happened there. I only went because my girlfriend was going and… Well, my head really hadn't been in a good place that past year. I thought maybe if I faced it, walked back into the mine, that I could…." He shook his head. "Anyway, Harry Warden killed almost everyone there. My girlfriend and a couple of other guys I know managed to get away… then it was just me and Harry."

"So what happened?" Sam asked.

"Harry was standing over me and I thought… I thought that that was it. That I was dead for sure. Then the Sheriff showed up." Tom shook his head and huffed out a bark of incredulous laughter. "He actually managed to track Harry from the hospital. He shot Warden before he could follow through with taking a swing at me with a pickaxe. Harry and I were close enough to each other that I ended up with my face covered in his blood. I was lucky that I was on the ground. The bullet that went through him actually sailed over my head and buried itself in one of the tunnel walls."

"Okay, so they shot him and that was that."

"Uh, no."

Dean rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling. "Of course not."

Tom closed his eyes. The memory was always so clear and sharp. Sometimes it felt like he cut himself on it every time he remembered it. "He ended up on his knees and we just looked at each other, face to…well, gas mask. Then he got up and took off. I don't know how many times they shot him, but it didn't seem to matter, he just kept going. It was actually a cave in that stopped him. Even then, they weren't able to find his body after they dug it out. Still, with that many bullets in him, there was no way he could have survived… Right?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other, and then shrugged. "Given the, you're being haunted thing? Yeah, he's probably dead." Sam told him.

Dean tilted his head in a sort of half shrug. "Unless of course he ended up back in a coma somewhere. Wouldn't be the first time that someone went walk about without their body. If that's the case, then getting rid of the 'ghost' will be even harder."

"Great."

* * *

><p>Tom looked Dean over. He didn't know what was more out there. The fact that he had a double or that he and the guy's friend kept talking about ghosts. Worse, their belief in spirits seemed genuine and it was starting to infect him as well. "So, who are you anyway? I mean, assuming you're not seven years of crappy therapy, come home to roost in some twisted sort of split personality…"<p>

His look-alike gave a snort of laughter and traded a glance with the other man. "Name's Dean, Dean Winchester. That's my brother, Sam. As to why you could pass as my twin, I don't have a frickin' clue. And believe me, we tested for the most likely possibilities while you were unconscious."

"What possibilities would those be?" Tom asked, wondering if any of those tests would explain why his left arm had a brand new cut on it. One that seemed more likely to have come from a blade than a door splinter.

Dean looked like he was going to answer him, when Sam cut into the discussion. "Why don't we tell you about them later? I think we need to fix your current problem, before we start dumping any new ones on you."

Ghosts and losing his mind weren't bad enough, there was more?

"Besides, if we're going to stop this ghost we need to find Warden's remains, and that means…"

Tom swallowed, finishing Sam's sentence. "That means that we have to go back to Harmony, and back to the mine." Yeah, that was more than enough of a problem. Tom's knee jerk reaction was to say hell no to the idea, but… The truth was, he was damn tired of running.

Dean nodded. "If you ever want to be free, then we have to find what's left of him and salt it and burn it. That's the only way any of this will be over for you."

Tom closed his eyes. "Somehow, I doubt that, even if everything else you've told me turns out to be real." He opened his eyes and looked at the two of them. God, he really was insane. "So you're actually going to drive half way across the country to go ghost hunting, just to help me out?"

Sam gave a little shrug and nodded.

"Why?"

Dean's smile was really more of a smirk, but Tom suspected that it was just the guy's default setting.

"It's what we do."

* * *

><p>Tom left his Bronco at the motel.<p>

Besides the fact that the people that stayed there tended to mind their own business, it turned out that the reason that no one had called the cops when Sam unloaded a shotgun at Tom was because the owner of the motel knew the brothers and owed them. Tom didn't know for what, but it was big time, whatever it was.

Anyway, the guy was willing to let Tom leave his car there free of charge. He just hoped the thing would still be in one piece when he got back.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke, Warner Brothers and quite possibly others who are not mentioned here. My Bloody Valentine belongs to Lionsgate and no doubt others as well. No money will be made from this fan fiction.

Summary: A year and a half before his father died and he went home to sell the mine, Tom met up with two hunters in a motel. There's no way that reality could stay the same after that.

In and Out of Harmony

By Colleen

Chapter Two

The first thing that Tom learned about his problem, it wasn't very noticeable when he was calm. The second thing he found out about it was that he was rarely calm. In fact, he hadn't realized how many panic attacks he tended to have in a day. The third thing he realized was that just because he occasionally had an extra voice in his head, it didn't mean he should listen to it. Especially as it kept trying to distract him from taking his meds.

This caused the fourth thing that got noticed.

It had to happen. Three guys, stuck in a car together while driving across the country. It would have been hard if not impossible to hide the pills, especially as Tom was usually a bit desperate by the time he was willing to take them. Fumbling them out of his pocket three times in one morning had Sam holding his hand out for them the next time they stopped at a diner to eat.

"Uh… Kind of need these. I'm not taking them for fun, believe me."

"I know, I just want to make sure they're not making your problem worse. Your doctor didn't exactly have all the facts when he prescribed them."

The look on Tom's face wasn't happy, but he handed the pills over, along with another two prescriptions that he had tucked away in his jacket pocket. Sam held on to those two just long enough to type the names into his laptop and see what they were for, before handing them back.

He saved the pills that Tom took the most often for last.

"Huh." Sam's brow creased as he stared at the screen of his computer. "Did your regular doctor prescribe these?" He set the bottle down on the table in front of Tom.

Tom shook his head. "No, it was his resident. The guy was only there for a few weeks. He was on a program where they had him rotating through different institutes and clinics across the state." He picked up the bottle and turned it slightly, watching as the tablets tumbled around in the plastic cylinder. "I was gone before he would have made it back around to where I was."

"Anything up?" Both of them looked over as Dean slid into the seat next to Sam.

"Yeah, I think one of Tom's doctors knew more than he was saying."

"How so?"

Sam pointed at the bottle of pills in Tom's hand. "They're salt."

"Salt?" Dean and Tom winced as they said the word together. It was bad enough when the two brothers did it, they at least had the excuse of being siblings. When they did it, it was just creepy. Everyone around them seemed to find it cute, but just because they looked like twins didn't make it so.

"Salt." Sam said again, nodding. "Buffered and coated so it won't disturb your stomach, but still, salt."

"So every time I feel like Warden's taking over my brain and I take one of those…"

Dean laughed. "You're bitch slapping him back down with a dose of salt. That's brilliant."

"If he knew, why didn't he warn me?"

"Dude, would you have believed him, or would you have reported him?"

Tom shrugged. "Neither, I suspect. But I see your point." He looked at the two brothers. "So if I take these, does this mean you'll stop handcuffing me to the bed at night?"

Dean snorted, while Sam looked apologetic.

"No."

Okay, even from the brothers, stereo was just creepy.

* * *

><p>Tom downed two of the salt tablets the moment they crossed the bridge into Harmony. Either he was panicking even more or the pills weren't working as well as they first had. They checked into the Thunderbird, the motel being about the only choice in town if you wanted a little privacy. He was almost surprised to see the place still in business, although he shouldn't have been. It was a rite of passage, to rent one of the rooms and spend a little quality time with your current somebody. In Tom's case he and a bunch of friends had rented over half of the place out for an after prom and between the alcohol and the sex, they had missed their checkout time by several hours.<p>

Thankfully, an old friend of the family, Mayla, ran the place at the time. She had smoothed that little problem over without bringing his dad into it.

Because she could recognize him, assuming she still owned the place, and because Dean had a very good chance of being mistaken for Tom, they got Sam to rent the room.

* * *

><p>Searching the number five tunnel at night was a lousy idea. However, it would have been almost impossible to do it during the day, so here they were. Dean parked the Impala on the ridge above the mine and the three of them headed down the hill on foot towards the entrance. Besides the gasoline and salt, the brothers were carrying flashlights, shotguns and of course, handguns. Given the whole ghost possession thing, Tom couldn't be trusted with firearms, so he got to carry the shovels and a crowbar, along with his own flashlight.<p>

The entrance to the tunnel had been closed off with locked doors and warning signs since the murders. Tom thought he'd been given the crowbar because they would need it to break the lock.

"Hey." He said, his voice at a half whisper. Dean spared him a quick look and Tom hefted the crowbar up to eye level as he watched the padlock get picked in a little under a minute. "If you could do that then why am I dragging this thing around?"

Sam replied for his brother, his voice also at a quiet pitch. "It's iron. It's the only thing other than salt that can temporarily dissipate a ghost."

"So what am I supposed to do, hit the ghost with it?"

Dean pulled the doors to the mine open. "Yes."

Whatever snaky reply Tom would have come back with got lost as he looked into tunnel number five. The echo from the noise made by opening the doors bounced off the walls as it faded into the distance.

Two shovels and a crowbar make quite a racket when they hit the ground and the echo ran even further. Shaking, Tom pulled the bottle of pills out of his coat pocket, ignoring the whispers in his head as he got the damn stupid child proof top off the thing. He didn't count them, just shook some of them into his hand and dry swallowed them. It wasn't until he was recapping the bottle that he realized that Dean was watching him, while Sam kept his eye on the general area.

"You okay man?"

Tom looked into the tunnel, wanting nothing more than to turn tail and run. "That would be no." He reached down and picked up his flashlight, using it to find and retrieve the shovels and crowbar. "But, since I don't want to stay 'not okay', I'll deal."

"All right." Dean looked back to the tunnel entrance. "After you then."

For a moment, Tom thought to argue that it would be better for at least one of the two guys with guns to go first, but realized it wouldn't fly, as he was the one that knew his way around the mine. He took a step forward, and then froze, as if he'd slammed into a wall.

"Hey, you could always book yourself back into the nearest booby hatch."

"Dean!"

Tom glared at his double. "You're crap at the inspirational thing, aren't you?" He didn't need his flashlight to know Dean was smirking.

"Never said I wasn't."

Tom growled and stalked into the mine. He was a hundred feet into the tunnel before he realized how he'd been manipulated. Later, he decided, he'd take enough time to be pissed about it. Right now, he was just kind of glad it had worked.

* * *

><p>While he wouldn't say anything to Tom, or Sam, for that matter, Dean had to admit, the place gave him the willies. It felt like his flesh literally wanted to crawl off his bones, and he didn't know why. It wasn't as if he'd never been underground before, and there wasn't even a Wendigo this time. Thankfully, Tom knew where he was going. Even when they'd had to use a side tunnel to skirt a recent cave-in, he still managed to keep them on track.<p>

They'd been walking a good long time before Tom stopped and pointed his flashlight up at the ceiling. "Emergency Exit. It should come out in the woods. It's probably how Warden got down here in the first place.

Sam shone his light up the length of the rusting metal ladder. "If he came in this way, maybe he used it to get back out.

Dean reached over and gave the ladder a shake, glad to find that it was solid, but not exactly overjoyed at the thought of having to climb it. Tom directed his light down both halves of the tunnel and then back up at the ladder. "It might be better to find the exit from above ground and in the daylight. It's far enough into the woods that we probably wouldn't be noticed."

Dean looked around one last time. "Yeah, okay. Can't say I'd mind getting out of here myself."

Sam nodded, apparently he wasn't liking this little tour anymore then the two of them were.

* * *

><p>Sam had managed to get them a room at the far end of the motel, with two queens and a hide-a-bed. A rare feat for the Thunderbird, as most of the rooms were set up with king-sized beds meant to be shared by couples taking short-term rentals.<p>

Tom ended up on the pull out bed, and true to continuing practice, he was once again handcuffed to the metal frame. It was an awkward way to sleep, but he had some practice at it, and the day's events were exhausting enough that he was asleep less than five minutes after lying down.

A few hours later, he was surprised to find himself sitting up. Honestly, he hadn't even noticed waking up. His body pulled experimentally at the handcuff, which Tom found to be rather odd, as he hadn't realized he'd told his body to do that. When he grabbed the cuff that was attached to the bed frame and started to pull in what appeared to be an attempt to break the strut it was locked to, he started to panic. Because he really hadn't told his body to do that.

He tried to call out to the guys, but his mouth wasn't obeying him any more than the rest of him was. His body stood up, planted one foot onto the bed and started to pull on the cuff with unrestrained enthusiasm.

Motel hide-a-beds can be such cheap crap.

With a snap, he came free from the bed, his body staggering a couple of steps before it found its balance again. A smile, so unpleasant that Tom could never have even imagined it existing on his face twisted across his lips as he took in the two men in the other beds, still sleeping. Tom's eyes moved around the dark room, looking for something he could use as a weapon. He was checking to see if the heavy, metal lamps were bolted down, when he heard someone clear their throat.

"Looking for something like this?"

Tom's body looked up in time to see a muzzle flash come from the area of the bed Dean was sleeping in. Pain hit him in the chest, punching him off his feet. He landed back on the hide-a-bed, sideways. Darkness took him before his body finished settling.

* * *

><p>Tom was surprised when he actually came too some time later. He was even more surprised to find himself with his hands cuffed together in front of him and sitting in a bathtub full of water. Unlike the units with the king-size beds, which had in-room heart shaped bathtubs that were meant for two people to share, their multi bedroom only had a normal bathtub in a normal, if slightly small bathroom. He flailed for a moment, before realizing that he was still wearing the boxers and the now covered in rock salt created holes with matching bloodstains t-shirt he'd gone to bed in. He also noticed when Dean's sawed-off was introduced to his nose with a slight tap.<p>

"That you in there Tom?"

With a jolt, Tom's brain more or less rebooted, and he remembered his last few conscious minutes. "Yeah…" He started to shake, even thought the water he was sitting in was still warm. Dean reached over and turned on the hot water anyway.

"I didn't have control of my body."

"Yeah, figured that."

Tom cupped some of the water in his hands and splashed it onto his face. "I… You know, I've only been going along with you guys, up until now. I mean, I didn't completely disbelieve the whole ghost thing, but I wasn't exactly one hundred percent with the believing of it."

Dean nodded. "Kind of guessed. So how about now?"

Tom wrapped his cuffed hands around the hot water tap and turned it off. "Now? Now I'd like to keep on not believing it." He sat back and contemplated the tiny bloody holes in his shirt. "I think I was less freaked out when I thought I was insane."

Dean waited, not saying anything. Tom splashed another handful of water onto his face.

"Crap."

A knock at the bathroom door announced Sam a few seconds before he opened it. "Hey, I think we're okay. This end of the motel is pretty much empty, and a lot of the other rooms were being kind of noisy. I don't think anyone heard the shotgun."

Tom winced at the same time Dean let out a sigh of relief. "Good, it'll give us time to do the purification."

Tom blinked, confused. "Purification?'

"Yeah." Sam handed Dean a container of salt and a tied bag. The older Winchester proceeded to pour the salt into the bathtub. "Why did you think you ended up in the bathtub?" He opened the tied bag and dumped the contents into the water. Tom scooped some of it up and was surprised to see that it was some kind of herbs.

"Should I be worried that I'm about to be cooked for dinner?"

Dean gave a quiet huff of laughter while Sam gave him a sad smile. "We have to cut the ghost loose from you, before we salt and burn the body." Sam told him. "We were going to do this later, but given what happened, waiting isn't an option anymore. "

"And this will work? "

Both of the brothers nodded, but it was Sam who continued speaking. "If it was a demon, we could just exorcise it. Ghosts, they can be a bit trickier. Thankfully out dad had run into this problem before. His journal had this ritual in it."

"So, I just have to soak in it?"

This time Dean's laugh was more of a snort. "No, we have some chanting to do, and we'll have to smudge you as well."

"That sounds very uncomfortable."

The two brothers just smiled.

* * *

><p>Tom sneezed, his nose still twitching hours later. Smudging, it turned out, was the burning of resins, incense and or herbs, the smoke of which they waved across his body to clean out his aura. Normally he would have protested what seemed like new age silliness, but he had to admit, he felt better. He hadn't realized how badly he fit into his own body until the moment they finished the purification ceremony. It reminded him of how he had felt once he'd gotten over his awkward growth spurt induced teenage years to emerge as the starting quarterback for his high school team.<p>

Thankfully, he'd long since grown out of most of the cockiness that had come with being a football star. And if he hadn't, trying to keep up with the Winchesters as the three of them worked their way through the forested areas around the mine would have done it. He'd actually believed that he was pretty fit until he found himself trailing after the brothers. The pace they had set was making him appreciate his oxygen intake more than usual. He wouldn't say he was actually panting, but it was close.

It didn't help that he was carrying the shovels and the crowbar again.

"Hey, there's where the emergency tunnel comes out." Dean called out, pointing towards something that Tom couldn't see for the trees. The Winchesters waited for him to catch up to them, and he could see the fenced off exit for himself.

"Thank God." If he hadn't been so focused on the goal, and on breathing, he would have seen Dean give Sam a smirk that the younger brother returned with a raise of his eyebrows and a smile of his own.

Once the three of them were at the fenced off exit, they each picked a direction and walked off, searching the area for any hint of what may have happened all those years ago.

"Hey guys, over here."

Sam's voice stopped them barely a minute into their search. Tom and Dean made their way over to him. The taller Winchester turned to look at them, surprise evident on his face. Their expressions matched his as soon as they saw what he had found.

"It's a grave. " Tom stated as they looked over the lonely pile of earth and rocks that could only have been produced by human hands.

"Look's like," Sam said, agreeing.

"Well, it's not going to unbury itself. Let's get to it." Dean bent over and pulled up one of the rocks, tossing it to the side in the start of what would be a new pile. Tom and Sam shrugged and put down the supplies they were carrying before pitching in to help clear the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke, Warner Brothers and quite possibly others who are not mentioned here. My Bloody Valentine belongs to Lionsgate and no doubt others as well. No money will be made from this fan fiction.

In and Out of Harmony

By Colleen

Chapter 3 

Once they'd cleared the rocks away, they were able to start digging. Sam and Tom worked the shovels while Dean kept watch with a rock salt loaded sawed off shotgun.

The first thing Tom found was the pickaxe. He grabbed hold of it, pulling it from the dirt. The blade was rusty and the wooden handle strangely intact, despite having lain in the ground for over eight years. He looked it over with a disturbed fascination, the years falling away as he remembered a moment frozen in time as he lay on the ground, expecting to be gutted by the thing.

"Tom." Hanniger jerked slightly at Dean's voice and turned to see that the hunter was now watching him, rather than their surroundings.

"I'm good." His voice was hoarse and Tom swallowed the odd lump that had formed in his throat before nodding at the other man. He lay the pickaxe aside and turned back to the grave to watch as Sam unearthed a miner's gas mask. As he attempted to pull it off the body's head, it became apparent that the strap had decayed. The now mummified head the mask been wrapped around was exposed as they gave.

Tom stared at the face for a moment, and then staggered as he felt something unseen slam into him. He bounced off the trunk of a still young tree, taking most of the impact on his right shoulder. Dean grabbed him before he could finish falling in the opposite direction from the bounce, saving him from doing a face plant into the leaf-covered ground.

"Hey."

Tom shrugged him off. "I'm okay." He said, even as he looked around frantically for whatever the hell that had been.

"Yeah, right. I kind of doubt you just decided to klutz yourself up." Dean scanned the area in a much more controlled manner than Tom had. A quick glance at Sam showed him doing the same thing. The two brothers looked at each other, eyes widening as they realized that all the little noises the woods had been producing up until that instant had simply stopped.

Sam went flying backwards out of the shallow grave. He hit the ground and slid, his body throwing leaves and dirt into the air from the force of his passage before he came to a stop, his back up against the trunk of a tree.

"Sam!" Dean started towards his brother, not making it more than a couple of steps before he also went flying. His landing was a little softer though.

"Oof." Sam lost what little air he'd managed to force back into his lungs as his brother fell on him. He pushed Dean away, struggled to breathe as he did so. While this was happening, Tom lunged for the closest, iron based weapon.

"No!" Hanniger froze as both of the brothers yelled a denial. He had to admit, it wasn't one of his brighter moves, as the closest weapon turned out to be the pickaxe. Holding it, he turned to look at the Winchesters as they struggled to their feet. His eyes widened, and whatever they would have said next died in their throats.

"He's behind us, isn't he?" Tom nodded to Dean's question and both hunters spun around. They had just long enough to take in the blank façade of a miner's gas mask before two arms shot out and they went flying once more.

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A moment frozen in time.

Strangely, when it came to Tom's memories of that night in the mine, two moments seemed to stand still. The first, unsurprising, was as he waited for Harry Warden to finish the swing he'd started that would bury the pickaxe in Tom's chest. The second was moments later, the events so close together that they almost became one. Tom, his face covered in Harry's blood and the man himself kneeling in front of him, forced there by the unexpected shot from the Sheriff's gun. They looked at each other, and then Warden stood up, restarting time. Tom had watched as Harry ran off, further gunshots doing little to stop him. The Sheriff had checked on Tom quickly, before he and his deputy had headed off after the madman. Time wandered off after that and the rest of the night was still little more than a blur even all these years later.

Tom could feel time slowing down again as he once more faced off against Harry Warden. If Dean had been standing in Tom's place he probably would have made some Star Wars related quip about men in masks and heavy breathing. As it was, seven years of therapy had done a number on Tom. The ability to use bravado to cloak his fears and uneasiness had been stripped away by well meaning doctors. This was great when you needed to talk about your feelings, but not all that good when you came face to face with the bogeyman.

Warden tilted his head in an almost questioning manner. Tom swayed and took a step back. He could hear the voices, the voices he always heard. Sarah screaming for him, Axel trying to get her into the car, Irene practically crying. Warden took a step forward and held his hand out to Tom, clearly expecting the young man to hand over his pickaxe. Tom blinked, his gaze moving from the ghost to the tool and then back again. He gave his head one sharp shake, and felt all of the voices fall away.

"You've got to be kidding me, you sick son of a bitch." He hefted the pickaxe back, flinging it at the phantom in much the same way Warden had thrown one at Sarah, Irene and Axel. The ghost reached out, trying to grab the tool by the wooden handle as it spun towards him, failing to get a grip on it before the carbon steel blade of the weapon, which, naturally, was mostly composed of iron, slammed into him. As it wasn't pure iron, it wasn't able to completely dispersed Warden. However, it apparently had enough iron in its make up that it punched a hole through the ghost. With nothing to stop it, the pickaxe continued on, to bury itself in a tree. The ghost gave it an annoyed look, and then shimmered out of sight.

Tom jumped over the grave and grabbed the crowbar off the ground, pulling it up into a batting position. Dean and Sam came staggering back, the older brother still somehow holding on to his sawed off shotgun.

Dean pointed at the grave. "Dig, we need to finish this thing, now."

Tom gave the area a quick look and then handed the crowbar over to Dean, before picking up one of the shovels. Sam grabbed up the other shovel and dug in. Clearing this grave was a little more difficult than usual. While the fact that it was shallow meant they had reached it quicker, the ground was rather damp and there was no casket. This made it difficult to expose all of the body, which unlike the head, was now mostly bone.

Tom flinched when he heard Dean's shotgun go off, but didn't look up from his task. The two men gave up on using the shovels and went down on their knees, using their hands to finish clearing the dirt away.

The shotgun sounded again. Tom catalogued the sound of the weapon being cracked open so Dean could reload.

"Duffle." Tom passed the asked for bag over to Sam, who pulled out a container of salt and a can of gasoline. Dean finished reloading and snapped the shotgun closed. Sam tossed the gas mask back into the grave and both he and Tom stood up. The taller Winchester opened the salt container and poured it over the remains. Tom glanced towards Dean, just in time to see the elder brother swing the crowbar left handed through Harry's half-formed ghost. The apparition shattered into nothing.

"Work faster Sammy."

Tom had never realized until then that you could hear someone roll their eyes.

"Going as fast as I can Dean." The smell of gasoline filled the air as the younger man poured the flammable liquid over the bones and facemask. He pulled out a pack of matches and used one of them to light the rest on fire. Covered in gas, the grave's contents went up in a whump of flame as soon as he dropped the matches onto them. The fire was hot enough that all three of them took a step back from it.

Tom looked at the two brothers. "So, is that it?"

Dean blew out a breath and nodded. "Yeah, that should… Oh, crap." He turned and looked behind him, to where the pickaxe was still stuck in the tree.

Warden stuttered back into existence, his hands already around the tool's handle. A blast of rock salt reduced him once more to smoke.

Sam went for the pickaxe while Dean covered him. The two brothers moved like a well-drilled unit and Tom did his best not to get in the way. Apparently preferring to free up his hands for reloading, Dean tossed him the crowbar, which he just managed to catch. His palms smarted from the contact, but he ignored it and once again swung the bar up into a batting position.

Meanwhile Sam grabbed onto the pickaxe's handle, pulling back on it to try to draw the blade out of the tree. He threw his whole body into it on his second attempt and slowly it started to move.

Tom made the rookie mistake of relaxing as soon as Sam got the pickaxe loose. Sam and Dean didn't. Three things happened at once. At the same time that the ghost flicked back into reality behind Sam, Dean raised his shotgun and Sam dropped to the leaf covered ground. He stayed there only long enough for his older brother to pull the trigger, and then he was up and running for the fire, pickaxe still in hand. Dean, as usual, covered him. Tom gave his head a shake and took off after them. "The fire's not hot enough to melt the steel."

"Got it covered." Dean yelled back. He skidded to a stop behind his brother as the younger man tossed the pickaxe into the dying embers of the fire. Dean fished around in the pocket of his leather jacket for his lighter and a palm-sized paper covered packet. "On the ground and cover your eyes and I mean cover."

A few leaping bounds of his very long legs and Sam hit the dirt, closing his eyes and putting an arm up over them. Tom squeezed his eyes shut and dropped as well, burying his head into his arms. Dean hesitated just long enough to see Warden's ghost reform in the grave, his hand reaching out for the smouldering handle of the pickaxe. Dean flicked his lighter on and lit a small sparkler that was sticking out of the packet, before tossing it towards the embers near the steel blade of the pickaxe. Closing his eyes, he turned and dove for cover before his little surprise even had a chance to land.

There was a moment, a one beat in the music of time and then the packet went up, flame flaring bright hot. The ghost seemed to catch fire with it, although instead of the normal flash out he first started to melt, the whole of him going up shortly after.

Eyes still closed all three men scrabbled away from the fire, feeling as if they'd been super tanned by the sudden heat.

"What the hell Dean?"

The elder Winchester stood up and checked himself over. Once he was sure nothing was on fire, he joined his brother and his double. He smiled at Sam, shrugging when the younger man glared at him. "Hey, you know… There was this really cool rerun of Mythbusters on a few nights ago and I thought…"

Sam's eyes went wide.

"Thermite? You've been carrying thermite around? Do you have any idea just how dangerous that is?"

"I only made it up last night, after we did the purifying thing. Used the recipe Caleb taught us."

Sam and Tom face palmed at the same time. "Dean. In the right situation thermite can heat without flame."

"I know that. I'm not a complete idiot."

They both looked at him like he had to be kidding. Dean sighed. "Look, after last night, I just figured we might need an edge. 'Sides, it's not like the stuff's hard to make."

Sam still looked pissed, but Tom, well, he had to agree with Dean, at least a little bit. Even he knew how to make homemade thermite, in theory, anyway, and without that extra bang, they really would have been screwed. "So, what do we do now?"

Dean sat down and leaned up against a tree. "Now, we wait until that goes out and cools down, fill it in and get the hell out of Dodge. Unless there are things you want to see or do now that you're back home."

"Hell, no. The sooner we're out of here, the happier I'll be." Tom picked his own tree to lean against and sat down. Sam shook his head at the both of them, but ended up sitting as well.

"So." Dean said, looking around. "Anyone bring a deck of cards?"

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In the end, after the waiting, refilling the grave, replacing the stones on top of it and getting themselves back out of the woods to the Impala, they were exhausted and it was getting dark. By the time they got back to the motel to shower and change the three of them knew they weren't going anywhere until the next day. Sam picked up a few submarine sandwiches and they made a half hearted attempt at eating them before falling into bed.

xxxxxxxx

As usual, Sam was the first up the next morning. He was dressed and staring at Dean and Tom, trying to figure out if he should let them sleep, even if it would mean a late start. He frowned as he looked at the two near identical men, realizing that if they left now he would be wasting his best opportunity to do research on his brother's double. He nodded to himself, and then fished the motel's phonebook out of the dresser, using it to find the address he would need. He left a quick note on the table for Dean, before snaking the keys for the Impala out of his brother's leather jacket. He would do a quick stop at a drive through for a breakfast and some coffee.

Dean woke up a couple of hours later. He gave the motel room a bleary look, and then staggered off to the bathroom. When he came out a short time later he was dressed and awake enough this time to take in the fact that the room was minus one Sam. He found his brother's note and read it, shaking his head and snorting at what it said. He dropped the note onto the table, grabbed his coat, and slid it on. A disgusted sound passed his lips as he realized that his car keys were missing and grumbling he resigned himself to picking up breakfast at the diner across the street from the motel.

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Sam stifled a yawn, wishing that the library had allowed him to bring in his cup of coffee. He'd only had a few sips of it before getting here and it had turned out that the old Carnegie built building had a no food or drink policy. He gave his eyes a rub and turned them back to the microfilm reader's screen. He'd gone through the last ten years of the The Daily Harmony, the town's newspaper. It had verified what Tom had told them, doing little to add to that information, though he had found out that Tom had been the Quarterback for his high school football team.

Go Panthers.

It was obvious that the Hanniger family was a big deal in this town. The mine was a part of everyone's life in Harmony, so the people who owned it were news. There had been several pictures of Tom's father during the years that fell between the mine explosion and now. Sam tapped his finger on the desk and frowned at the picture he was currently looking at. Tom really didn't seem to look much like his father. He got a new set of film spools and went back further, looking for pictures of Tom's mother. She turned out to have been very pretty, but it would be a stretch to say that he could see any of her features in her sons.

Was he adopted?

It was pure dumb luck that he came across a picture of Tom's parents at a function with his grandparents. Sam blinked, not really certain that he was seeing what he thought he was. However, it was enough to send him scrambling backwards through printed time, until he found a wedding announcement and picture for Tom's grandparents from the early 1950s. He sat back in his chair and stared at it for a long moment.

"Huh."

xxxxxxxx

By the time Tom woke up, groped his way to the bathroom and got ready for the day, Dean had made it back to the room with breakfast. Still a little bleary eyed, Tom came out of the bathroom to find Dean at the motel rooms little eating table, chowing down on a breakfast sandwich. A brown paper bag, already sporting spots of grease and a cup of coffee, sat at the space across from the hunter.

"Better eat it before it gets totally cold and gross."

Tom looked around the room, and then sat down, pulling the food out of the bag. "Where's Sam?"

"Library." Dean said, his mouth full of egg, cheese and bacon. He chewed a couple of times and swallowed before continuing. "Left a note, said he had a couple of things he needed to look up before we left."

Tom nodded and bit into his own food.

By the time they heard the Impala pulling into the lot, they had all of their things, including Sam's stuff, packed.

Sam came into the room, a sheaf of papers in one hand.

"Hey, Sammy, did you find what you were looking for?"

Sam grimaced slightly at his older brother, before throwing a similar look Tom's way. "More, actually."

Dean gave a wary glance to his double and then back to his brother. "What's up?"

Sam pulled out one of the eating table's chairs and sat down. "You guys might want to sit down for this." He smiled at the identical panicked looks on their faces. "It's not that bad, it even explains... well, it explains a lot. And for a change, there really isn't anything supernatural about it."

"About what?" Dean asked, starting to feel a bit annoyed. Mostly because, despites Sam's attempt to have him not worry, he was worrying.

"About why you and Tom look alike."

The two men looked at each other. Both of them picked a bed and sat down on it before turning their attention back to Sam.

"Okay, got to say, I'd like to know the answer to that one." Tom said.

Sam laid the papers out on the table and picked up one of them, passing it over to his brother, who was on the bed closest to him. Dean stared at the sheet of paper, twisting it slightly, as if he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be seeing on it.

"I was at the library, going over the town's newspaper." Sam shrugged and looked at Tom. "I figured it would be the best way to find out anything about you and why you're my brother's double."

While Tom didn't look very happy about being researched, he nodded, understanding.

"The first thing I noticed was that you don't look all that much like your mother or your father."

"No, everyone always said I looked like my grandmother." Tom gave the two of them a rueful smile. "Not something a growing boy likes to hear." Dean nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. I found that picture ..." Sam indicated the printout that Dean was holding. "And I thought that your grandmother looked familiar, so I went back further." He picked up another photo printout and handed it over to Dean. "This is Tom's grandparent's wedding announcement and picture."

Dean stared at it for a moment. "Holy crap."

"What?"

Dean handed Tom the photo and leaned around to open one of his duffle bags. He pulled out their father's journal, paging through it until he found a loose family picture, one that showed a young John Winchester standing next to a young and recently married to him Mary Winchester. He passed that photo over as well.

"What the hell?" Tom glanced from his grandmother in the wedding photo to Mary in the more informal photo. "They could be twins. He looked a little closer at the photo. "Okay, maybe not identical twins, but it's close." He looked up at Sam. "I don't get it."

"Sammy?"

The younger Winchester blew out a breath. "I did some research. Tom's grandfather, Thomas Hanniger, married Marian Campbell on July 11th, 1952. I managed to search her birth certificate online. She was born to Rose and Vincent Campbell on May 23rd, 1931. She had one older sibling. A brother, named Samuel."

Dean's mouth hung open for a moment. "Wait, you mean that Tom's grandma is our..." He stopped to think about it for a moment. "Our great aunt." He looked at the other man. "Which would make us some sort of cousins, right?"

Sam nodded. "Yep. And it looks like mom really took after her aunt and you two..." He shrugged.

"How come I've never heard of her…" Dean paused and shook his head. "Okay, that's a stupid question, given how much I didn't know about mom's side of the family."

"Yeah, well, according to the wedding announcement, the bride's family was unable to attend. Sounds like maybe grandma wanted out of the family business just like mom did. I mean, I never met the guy, but did our grandfather strike you as someone who would blow off his only sister on her most important day if they were speaking to each other."

"Well, if there was a hunt…" Dean grimaced and shook his head. "No, probably not. I mean, the guy was no teddy bear, but if he'd have tried to be there if he'd approved of the marriage. If he hadn't...well, they'd probably never have spoken to each other again."

Tom frowned. Other than the fact that his grandfather met his grandmother while they were both at college, he really didn't now much about his grandmother or the Campbell side of the family. The Hanniger side kind of drowned things like that out. As one of Harmony's founding families, everything had always been about them.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke, Warner Brothers and quite possibly others who are not mentioned here. My Bloody Valentine belongs to Lionsgate and no doubt others as well. No money will be made from this fan fiction.

Author's note: This is what you get when you watch every existing episode of Supernatural, topped with a viewing of My Bloody Valentine. I hope it will entertain.

In and Out of Harmony

By Colleen

Chapter 4

Tom stared out the backseat window of the Impala, trying to digest what he and the two men in the front seats had recently discovered.

He had family.

To be honest, it freaked him out a little. Somewhere along the line, he'd gotten used to the fact that when his dad finally kicked it, he would be the last. Since he'd found it unlikely that he'd ever have kids, he figured that would be that. Now, he had at least two cousins and possibly even more relatives somewhere, all from his grandmother's side of the family.

Of course, it couldn't be normal family. Noooo. He'd always felt that his only presented as sane on the surface. However, compared to one that could list professional ghost hunters and monster killers on their résumé… It figured that the first time in over eight years that he finally felt clear headed, would be the time he stepped into the biggest pile of crazy anyone could possibly come up with.

A cell phone going off pulled him away from his thoughts and he watched with some curiosity as Sam answered it.

"Hey Bobby, what's up?" Sam listened for a moment. "We're in Illinois, about an hour out from the Indiana border. He listened some more. "Uh, okay, hold on a moment." He looked at his brother, who had half an eye on him, and the rest on the road. "It's Bobby, he's in state and needs backup on a hunt."

Dean looked in the rear-view mirror at his double/cousin. Tom shrugged. "It's okay, you can drop me off. I can take a bus the rest of the way. You shouldn't have to drive me all the way back to Pennsylvania just to get my car."

Dean shook his head. "Not what I'm asking. Are you okay with a side trip? You can stay at a motel while we help a friend out with something."

Tom shrugged again. "Sure, it's not like I have anywhere pressing to be. A little down time to sort through the crap in my head would probably be a good thing."

"Okay." Dean nodded at Sam.

"Sure Bobby, where are you at? Uh huh." He nodded, even though the hunter on the other end of the phone couldn't see him. "No, that's good." Sam made a spinning motion with one finger. Dean used the next turn off to make a u-turn and headed back the way they'd come. "Umm. By the way, we have someone travelling with us. Just, don't freak out when you see him." Sam pulled the phone away from his ear, the man on the other end loud enough that Tom could hear him from the back seat.

"What have you idjits gotten yourselves into this time?"

Sam tentatively placed the phone back to his ear. "Well, it turns out our mom had an aunt…"

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Bobby stood outside of a motel room in Ottawa, Illinois, his appearance stoic. Mentally he was banging his head against the roof post to his left, but no one else but him needed to know that.

Winchesters. If they could find something to step in, then they'd do it every time. When he thought about it, a formally ghost possessed cousin who could physically be Dean's twin wasn't all that odd. At least, not when you factored in all the angel, prophet and what not crap they had going on in their lives. Still, it felt odder, maybe because it involved family. You couldn't control the stuff that came at you, not in this line of work, but this was more as if something you trusted had a sneaked up behind you to bite you in the ass. Now he'd just have to see how long whatever this was took to heal, so the boys would be able to sit properly again. Probably just in time for something new to come along and sink its teeth into them.

Guess he should just be glad they hadn't turned up a half brother or something. That would have gone over like a lead filled Thanksgiving Day parade balloon.

The rumble of the Impala's engine announced itself a few seconds before it actually appeared. Dean pulled it into the parking spot in front of Bobby and cut the engine. With a synchronized creaking noise, the two front doors and one of the back doors opened, revealing the Winchesters and the doppelganger that claimed to be their cousin.

Bobby frowned at the young man. It was odd, he really did look just like Dean. Somehow though, the hunter didn't think he'd ever get the two of them mixed up, not if he was really looking at them.

"Hey Bobby." Sammy greeted him with a wave, Dean nodded at him and the other one… was nervous, which was hardly surprising.

Bobby sighed. "Boys." He nodded at the two of them and then gave their third his attention.

"That's Tom." Dean filled in, not so helpfully.

"Gathered that." Bobby said, his voice dry. "We're in number 18. There's shot glasses demanding your attention inside."

Four shot glasses in fact. Bobby filled three of them from his flask of holy water and Sam filled one from theirs. All four of them drank and although that Tom kid had hesitated, he was no more affected by the liquid than the rest of them. Bobby didn't exactly relax, but he did move his distrust of the stranger to the back of his mind. Out of the way for now, but not forgotten. He'd see if he should dig it out again later, once he'd gone over Sam's research into the kid.

"So, where were you boys heading when I called you?"

All three of them looked at each other, but it was Tom who spoke up. "Uh, they were getting me back to my car. They figured it would be better if we only used one car to… visit my home town."

Bobby frowned. "So, where's your home town?"

"About fifty miles east of Independence… Missouri. That's right next to Kansas City."

Bobby snorted and Tom suspected that the expression on the guy's face was in the 'No shit, Sherlock' range, even if the guy didn't bother to say it.

"So Bobby." Dean cut into the older man's silent conversation before it could become vocal. "What'd you call us in for?"

Bobby grabbed a file folder off one of the beds and dropped it onto the scarred surface of the room's table. "In the last month there have been three suspicious deaths. Three men, who were essentially scoured to death."

Dean blinked. "Come again?"

"Just what I said. It was as if someone took a sandblaster to them. Stripped them down to a bloody mess of bones in something like a minute or two."

Tom looked ill at the thought. Sam and Dean's faces expressed a similar emotion, laid over professional curiosity.

"Okay." Sam sat down and started flipping through the file. "So, ghost, demon…?"

"Maybe, but I was thinking that we shouldn't rule out some sort of earth elemental."

"Or the mummy." Dean looked up to find the other three looking at him. "What, you know, like the Brandon Fraser movie. The dude could control sandstorms."

Bobby's expression was rather sour. "Sounds like a long shot. Still…" He turned to look at Hanniger.

Tom held his hands up in a warding position. "Look, I really don't know much about what you guys do and I think it best that it stays that way."

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, I agree. Still, if you want to help instead of sitting here twiddling your thumbs you could check in with the museums in town. See if any of them just opened up an Egyptian display or something."

Tom was pretty sure that he'd just been offered some 'stay out of trouble' grunt work. He shrugged, and then nodded. Even grunt work would be better than daytime television.

"Great. We'll start interviewing the victim's families." Bobby checked his watch. "First thing tomorrow morning."

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Tom was officially missing his car. Getting around without wheels, even in as small a place as Ottawa, IL was annoying. The brother's had dropped him off at the first museum on their way to checking on the victims families, but he had been on his own after that. Unsurprisingly, the Ottawa Scouting Museum, while interesting, had been a bust for a current Egyptian display. They did however, have a new display about a recently opened time capsule. While it didn't seem to have anything in it that would cause a problem, he made a note of the items just in case.

The other two possible places around Ottawa were out of town. He managed to bus it out to the Norsk Museum. However, as their focus was on Scandinavian peoples, Egyptian displays or anything else that might rate as supernatural and deadly were of short supply. He managed to catch a ride back into town with someone he struck up a conversation with at the museum and called the last place once he was back at the motel. The Starved Rock National Parks Visitor Center didn't have any displays that weren't about the park or the people of the area.

Oh well, it really had beat soap operas and game shows.

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The hunters weren't having much luck either. Posing as FBI agents, Sam and Dean were covering the family of the first victim, while Bobby was taking the second victim. The three of them meet up together for the last.

For once, the two brothers didn't have to talk their way past reluctant family members. Beth Crombey very much wanted to find out what had killed her husband, Louis. She told them more about him than they really wanted to know, but it was refreshing not having to fight for the information.

Louis had worked at one of the sand quarries. The region was known for its glass making and there were several such quarries around Ottawa. Louis had been working the day he was attacked, and since whatever it was, was some kind of earth/sand creature, it may have simply been a matter of wrong place, wrong time.

Bobby did have to sweet talk the wife of the next victim into talking to him. Jasper Evans worked part time as a pilot and part time as an airplane mechanic. He was killed in the hanger, where he'd been working on a twin engine, light aircraft. According to the wife, there was no sign that anything had been following him before it had happened.

When the three of them met at the last house, they took one look at each other and shrugged in unison. With a sigh, Bobby went and knocked on the door. After a second knock with no answer and a quick look around the neighbourhood, Dean moved forward and picked front door's lock. Once inside, the three of them spread out. Sam headed for the home office and the guy's computer, Bobby went through living room and kitchen, Dean took the bedrooms.

"Well?" Bobby asked, as the met back in the living room.

Sam gave him a shrug. "Gene Carlton, accountant, single and the most recent victim. According to the police report, he got taken out in a parking lot as he was leaving a bar. His house seems normal, although his office is both messy and dusty. That includes the computer keyboard. I don't think he's turned it on for the last couple of weeks or so."

Dean joined the conversation. "Bedroom's the same. Dusty, bed unmade, dirty clothes everywhere."

Bobby nodded. "Kind of goes with the garbage can full of empty liquor bottles and microwave dinners that I found in the kitchen. I get the feeling that this guy knew something was after him."

"Hmm. Maybe." Dean took another look around the room, noticing unopened mail and unread newspapers piled up on a chair. "But something about this feels like depression and guilt. Like the guy was hiding from the world by going on a month long bender."

Sam nodded, agreeing with his brother. "So maybe the guilt was because whatever's going around killing people was something he was responsible for setting off."

Dean sighed. "Looks like we need to find out a little more about the late Mr. Carlton."

xxxxxxxx

Sam resisted the urge to rub at his eyes and looked up from his laptop. Dean sat across from him at the table, half asleep as he paged through one of the books Bobby had brought with him. Bobby himself was sitting on the couch that would later unfold to be a bed. Tom sat next to him and the two of them were going over the list of items that had been pulled out of the Scouting museum's time capsule. Sam shut his computer down and sighed. "Well, I've got nothing."

Dean sighed and flipped the book he was looking at closed. "Ditto."

Bobby shrugged. "Couple of items here might be worth checking into, but I'm not enough of a betting man to go and put any money down on them being connected." Tom nodded, agreeing with the older man.

Dean stood and stretched, working the kinks out of his back. "So, more leg work." He looked over at his brother. "Me and Sam, we can talk to the people Carlton worked with. Assuming of course, that Sam found out where that is."

Sam just grunted, not having the energy to make any of the rude gestures he felt that comment deserved.

Bobby shook his head at the two of them. "Well, I'm going to take a second run at the museum. I want to see if I can get a look at some of these items and test them for EMF. We also need to check out the attack sites."

Tom screwed up his face and his courage. He had no intention of being permanently involved with this hunter stuff, but since he was here…

"I could take the site of the first attack."

The other three men looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"I mean, it's a sand quarry. It's not the same as a mine, but some of the same principles apply. I might notice something…" He shrugged. "Bad idea?"

"No," Sam said shaking his head. "That sounds like a good idea. Dean and I can take the Carlton's work and the bar parking lot, Bobby can take the plane hanger and revisit the museum."

Tom breathed out a puff of relieved air, not willing to admit to himself that he would actually have been depressed if he didn't get to help. "Uh, just one thing. I'm going to need a car."

Dean smiled at him and Tom suddenly got the feeling that he should be worried, though about what, he didn't know.

"Well," Dean said, as his smile got even wider. "I'll have to introduce you to the hunter car rental plan in the morning."

xxxxxxxx

Holy crap, Holy crap, Holy crap, Holy…

"Tom, pay attention."

Tom tore his panicked gaze away from the street around them and back to what Dean was doing to the wires he'd pulled out from under the dash of the late model car they were sitting in.

"Now remember, older cars are a better choice to steal. The alarm systems are easier to beat or nonexistent. Once that's done, all you need to do is twist this wire with that wire and…"

The car started with a throaty grumble.

Dean clamped Tom on the shoulder. "Just remember to leave it where it can be found once you're done with it and wipe down anything you touch." He slid out of the car, leaving his rather shell-shocked cousin to deal with stealing his first car.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke, Warner Brothers and quite possibly others who are not mentioned here. My Bloody Valentine belongs to Lionsgate and no doubt others as well. No money will be made from this fan fiction.

Author's note: Warning. Changes to the universe will be more on the My Bloody Valentine side rather than the SPN side. Basically, Tom's along for the ride, until he figures out how to drive himself.

Summary: A year and a half before his father died and he went home to sell the mine, Tom met up with two hunters in a motel. There's no way that reality could stay the same after that.

In and Out of Harmony

By Colleen

Chapter 5

Contrary to what video games would have you believe, driving around in a stolen car was not fun. In fact, nerve wracking would be putting it mildly. He kept expecting someone to spot him driving the thing around and point at him, screaming that the car didn't belong to him. Like some weird ass car theft version of 'The Body Snatchers.'

The seventies remake in this case.

He did start to relax a little as the town thinned out the closer he got to the quarry. Rolling his shoulders to work out the stress-induced stiffness had him wincing and he smirked at himself. It was sort of funny after all. All those stunts he'd pulled over the years that kept landing him back in the psych ward and none of them had been for stealing a car.

Well, he was pretty sure that the golf cart and riding mower didn't really rate as cars.

He breathed a little easier when he arrived at the quarry. The place was much as he expected it to be. A very large hole in the ground with a series of dirt roads leading into it. Heavy machinery moved and collected sand, dumping it into the trucks. It was loud, dirty and far too familiar.

Tom parked by the trailer that was serving as a mobile office and dug out the ID that Dean had given him. Given that they looked alike, the hunter had simply used one of his own pictures while making it, but thankfully had used the name Tom had suggested.

Tom frowned at the thing. Insurance investigator was not the cover he would have picked, but since the other three had the FBI covered it was the best choice. Hopefully, someone here would have enough sympathy for the widow of Louis Crombey to give him something useful.

He grimaced as he stepped out of the car and heard raised voices coming from the portable office. Whatever was going on, he doubted that it would make this fact-finding trip any easier. He hesitated for a beat, and then took a deep breath before walking over and knocking on the office door.

"What!" The door opened with more force than necessary and Tom jerked back at the sight of a red face under a yellow hardhat.

"Hi, I'm Miles Bennell, All Life Mutual."

He jerked again as the door was slammed in his face and the voices inside returned to their argument. Frowning, he carefully reached out and knocked on the door again.

He waited a few seconds, but it was obvious they were ignoring him.

That… made no sense. It was an incredibly stupid thing for whoever was on the other side of the door to do. All Life Mutual didn't just insured Louis Crombey's life. According to what Sam had found out about them, it was also the insurance company for the entire quarry.

He stepped up and hammered on the door.

It opened again.

"What the hell is your problem?" A different guy answered the door, possibly the owner. At least, Tom hoped he was. It would be 'bad' if it turned out he was from the insurance company.

The first man he'd seen was leaning against a cheap desk that was lost under a load paperwork. Now that he had a better look at him, he appeared to be the site foreman. Given that they were arguing, it was even more likely that the guy at the door was the owner. Both of them appeared to be having a bad day.

Tom was just annoyed enough to try to make it worse.

"My problem? My problem is your problem. In the next ten seconds I will be in your office discussing the death of one of your workers or I will pull the insurance for this entire site and you can spend the next month shut down while attempting to reinstate it."

The guy actually sputtered. "You can't do that."

Tom narrowed his eyes at the man, reached into suit pocket of Dean's back up Fed suit and pulled out his cell phone.

"Okay, okay. Come in." The guy backed up, watching as Tom pocketed his phone and entered.

The guy Tom suspected of being the Foreman looked him over. "You're here about Louis?"

Tom nodded. "Yes. In an… accident of this nature we are required to investigate before the claim can be processed." Yes, his father had made him deal with the insurance people at the mine. Both before and after the accident. He knew what questions to ask, because last time he'd had to answer them.

"Hoping to wheedle out of paying, huh?"

Tom shook his head. "On the contrary, it is obvious that a payment will be made. What we have to check on is the amount."

The first guy smirk. "Have to pay out double for accidents, don't you?"

"Yes," Tom agreed. "Accidents and murder."

Both men froze at the suggestion of foul play. Tom found that, very interesting.

Uninvited, he sat down on one of the office chairs and opened the file he'd brought with him that held sheets of printed garbage that Sam kept as a prop to fill out the folder. The newspaper articles about the accident covered them. "So, I've read the report. Mr. Crombey was running a piece of heavy equipment."

The two men smirked at the description of the CAT that Louis had been running and Tom let them think that he knew next to nothing about the equipment.

"When said piece of equipment was engulfed in a freak sandstorm?"

Both men shrugged and the 'boss' answered. "It was either a very big dust devil or a very small tornado."

"Hmm. So, even though the machine he was using had a glassed in cab the sand somehow got in and…" He glanced at the article. "Scoured him to death?"

"Basically, yeah. You could see bone. The uh… The heavy equipment, it's a total loss as well."

"Mmm. And the maintenance on the CAT?"

Both men jerked slightly and gave him a narrow look. The foreman answered. "Regular service, good record. Nothing was wrong with it. The sand just worked his…its way in."

Tom froze at the man's slip of the tongue, but decided he couldn't ask about it point blank and continued with his other questions.

"And Mr. Crombey's mental state; how was that?"

Both men bristled.

"Look, if you try to avoid paying his widow because you want to somehow call this a suicide…"

Tom held up a hand. "I have to follow all avenues of the investigation, no matter how unlikely. Besides, Mr. Crombey had the policy long enough that suicide still pays out for the regular amount."

"Right, but not the double amount it should be for an accident." The foreman noted.

"Correct. So, his mental state?"

"Was fine."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Both men looked at each other and sighed. "Okay," The boss said. "He was a little depressed and a lot jumpy, but you couldn't really blame the guy and he was getting better. Still think he should have taken a little more time off after what happened…"

Tom held up a hand to stop him. "What did happen?"

They both frowned. "You don't…"

Tom stopped them again. "The originally assigned investigator is on maternity leave and the baby came early. She didn't have time to leave the files in the best of shape." He sighed and looked at his watch. "Want me out of your hair?"

Both men gave him a hopeful look.

"Give the background I'm missing and I'll get out of here. I have my own work to do on top of this and I don't believe I need to waste my time or yours on this one. Mrs. Crombey deserves to get her money as quickly as possible."

"It's not going to screw that up for her, is it?"

"There is no way it could, but if I don't include the information the people further up the line will never sign off on this policy."

The foreman and the boss looked at each other again and nodded. "Okay, it's not like you couldn't find out about it."

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Driving back into town Tom had to keep his mind on the road and not on what he'd learned. He'd thought he'd seen and heard a lot when in came to freak accidents… but man. This was so out there that he actually made a stop at the library to check the newspaper articles before heading back to the motel.

xxxxxxxx

Dean and Sam flashed their FBI badges at the receptionist behind the desk of the accounting office and asked to see whoever was in charge. The man who came out to greet them appeared to have been expecting them.

"This is about Gene Carlton, isn't it?"

Sam nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

The guy showed them to his office. "Don't apologise. It's kind of a relief to know that someone is seriously looking into it." He showed them to some chairs and took a seat behind his desk. "So, what did you need to know?"

"We're looking into the possibility that Mr. Carlton's death might not have been an accident."

The head accountant blinked. "You mean you think Gene may have been… murdered?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other. "We can't say for certain at this time," Dean told him. "However, we will be performing a full investigation."

The guy let out a deep breath and shook his head. "It just keeps getting stranger and stranger. Gene still hadn't gotten over what had happened last month, not that I blamed him. He was in rough shape. Bad enough that when I heard he'd died I was a little worried he might have done something to himself, but with the other two deaths…" He shrugged.

The brother's gave each other another look. "So," Sam asked carefully. "What did happen a month ago that caused you to worry so much about Mr. Carlton?"

xxxxxxxx

Bobby had already checked back at the museum and crossed the items he was worried about off his list. There hadn't been a blip of EMF and a chat with the people who ran the place came up empty on anything weird happening.

He drove out to the airport. The place was busy, with both commercial and private planes going up. Skydiving was a big deal here and it was a rare day when no one was jumping out of a plane.

"Idjits." It wasn't that Bobby hadn't learned to sky dive. He was a hunter and he'd had to get into some weird places a time or two. But as far as doing it for pleasure? He had enough things attempting to kill him. Why should he go and give them a hand by throwing himself out of planes when he didn't need to?

He heard a snort behind him and turned to see a mechanic standing by the door to the hanger.

"Take it you've never gone up?"

Bobby smirked. "I have. Didn't make me any brighter though."

The guy gave him a return smirk. "So, can I help you with something? We're closed at the moment, so…"

Bobby took out his FBI badge and flashed it at the guy. "I'm here to discuss the accident."

"Which one?"

Bobby froze slightly.

"Make that accidents."

xxxxxxxx

They met back at the motel, all of them looking slightly shell shocked.

"From the looks on everyone's faces, I'd say we all essentially came across the same story."

They all nodded and took seats at the table.

"Tom, why don't you start?"

Surprised, Tom nodded. "Louis Crombey was attacked by some sort of sand storm that managed to get inside the glass cab of the machine he was running and sandblast him to death. I checked the maintenance logs on the CAT and they were fine. I got a look at it before I left and they're going to have to scrap it. The sand did a number on the inside of the cab. Interesting thing? The sand got in without breaking the glass and the handle on the inside and outside of the door had deeper scouring than the rest of the CAT. Almost as if the sand had grabbed it and twisted to open the cab."

"That everything?" Bobby asked.

"No. Apparently there was an incident last month. A plane sent two skydivers out over the quarry. They weren't supposed to be there. One of them made it down safely, but the other one…"

"His chute didn't open properly. Couldn't slow him down enough." Bobby finished for him.

Tom nodded. "Yeah. Guy lands in the middle of the quarry. Probably broke most of his bones and he may not have survived even with help, but… Crombey driving over him with the CAT kind of guaranteed that."

They all winced.

"In his defence, there was simply no way he could have avoided running the poor guy over."

"Yeah." Bobby agreed. "But I'm getting the feeling that the guy doesn't feel the same way about it."

"Talked to the mechanic at the hanger." Bobby told them. "Plane wasn't supposed to be over the quarry. Pilot claims mechanical error put them off course. May or may not be true. A problem with the plane did present itself and it led to the two divers baling out at the pilots insistence, even though it wasn't the safest place to do so. The pilot managed to land the plane. Suspicious part. It was a fuel line problem, looked like a rat or something got at it. Only the mechanic I spoke to said no way did he send that plane out like that. Combine that with the parachute failure and it looks like maybe somebody was trying to kill our unlucky skydiver."

Sam took over.

"Edward Grant. Accountant. Up for his first attempt at skydiving. His friend, Gene Carlton, goes up with him. From what Gene told his boss, Edward wanted to back out of the dive, Gene tried to talk him into doing it, but it was a no go."

"Until the plane looked like it was going to go down." Dean said.

Sam nodded. "Then he's got no choice. Gene apparently had to shove him out the door of the plane. And then of course, the chute didn't properly open."

Dean again. "Edward hits the ground, gets extra for sure killed by a sand grader and now, I'd say he's pissed."

They all nodded.

Dean frowned. "Why didn't we hear about any of this before?"

Tom actually knew the answer to that one and laid out a couple of photocopied newspaper articles that included a small piece about a paper wide retraction due to a printing problem. "The newspaper reported the names a few days after the incident, but a system glitch caused minor spelling errors throughout the paper the day the story ran. All of the names of the people involved, first and last, where misspelled."

Bobby gave the articles an annoyed look and shook his head. "Explains why I didn't get anything when I ran a computer search earlier. " He sighed. So, Edward's going after everyone he blames for his death. Is there anyone left?" He thought for a moment. "Other than the mechanic. Even if he didn't knowingly let the plane go up like that our ghost might have him on his list."

"Don't know." Dean said, answering him. "But, we did find out that Edward Grant was married, so we might want to keep an eye on his wife tonight, in case hubby gets lonely. We can have a chat with her tomorrow."

"Sounds like a plan." Bobby said. He looked around the room. "So, who's cooking dinner?"

xxxxxxxx

Dean and Tom went out and picked up a pizza and sodas from a place nearby. The look alike cousins got more than their share of double takes from the other customers and the waiting delivery drivers. Dean flirted shamelessly with the girl at the counter, who was obviously very taken with the idea of the two of them as twins.

On the drive back to the motel, Dean chuckled. "Never occurred to me that girls would be just as interested in twins as guys tend to be."

The two of them looked at each other, both of them considering that kind of a threesome.

Dean shuddered and Tom found himself very disturbed. They looked at each other again, both speaking the same word.

"No."

xxxxxxxx

They split up. Bobby and Tom were taking the wife. Sam and Dean the mechanic.

Nothing happened all night. The brothers gave up on watching the mechanic once he headed off to work and went back to the motel to shower and change into their FBI suits. Bobby was planning on waiting for them to show up at the widow's place before going back to the motel to freshen up. The boys had just pulled up behind them on the other side of the driveway when the wind picked up suddenly. Tom could feel it buffeting up against Bobby's old car, making it rock. Dean stepped out of the Impala and looked around.

And then he looked up.

Tom couldn't hear him, but it wasn't hard to read his lips when the words were probably 'Holy Shit.' Dean dove back into the car and slammed the door shut just before twister of sand came down right between the two cars.

As twisters go, it was small. Maybe eight to nine feet tall and three to four feet wide at its thickest, which thankfully was at the top. Tom could swear it looked at them, before it dismissed them and started towards the house.

Now Dean was saying 'Crap' a lot. It wasn't surprising, because so was Bobby. All four of them got out of their cars, Bobby and Dean both going for their trunks. Tom didn't see what they pulled out, because his attention was on the front door opening.

Mrs. Grant was a brunette. She stood about five foot four and had a face like a china doll. Although right now, it was a blotchy china doll. She had obviously been crying.

The whirlwind hesitated for a moment and that was all the time Bobby needed. The older hunter dashed forward and swung an iron bar through the mini twister. All motion stopped and sand rained down on the overgrown front lawn.

Quickly, they hustled the woman back into the house. Sam was left to bring up the rear, carrying some hastily grabbed supplies from the Impala.

"Who are you?" Mrs. Grant asked, her voice trembling.

Sam's supplies had included his FBI badge and he showed it to her, tossing a container of salt to his brother as he did.

"I don't understand. Why are you here?" She wrung her hands, looking lost and confused. Dean salting the doors and windows probably wasn't helping with that. Tom grabbed a second container and started working on the back of the house.

"We're investigating the death of your husband and the deaths of the people involved in his accident."

"Accident, yes it was an accident. A terrible, terrible accident."

The lady was a terrible actor.

Every man in the room looked at each other.

"Oookay." Dean said. "You maybe want to try that again. Only this time with more truth."

The woman clamped her mouth shut, the doll face suddenly turning ugly. She probably would have ordered them out of her house if it weren't for what Sam said next.

"We believe that whoever is taking revenge for your husband's death might be coming after you next."

She sputtered. "Why? I had nothing to do with that."

'Of course," Sam said, his voice placating. "But we don't believe this person is thinking clearly. So there will be a protection detail here with you until he's apprehended."

Sam said all that very nicely, but there was enough steel in his eyes that the lady simply nodded.

xxxxxxxx

Bobby went upstairs and salted the windows. He also did a little discrete looking around. Sodden tissues, messy room, glass that smelled of vodka by the bedside. Everything pointed at a woman still mourning the loss of her husband a month later. So what the hell was that bit of bullshit they had just witnessed downstairs?

Shaking his head he headed back down, passing Mrs. Grant on the way as she went to get dressed. He called all three of the boys together in the living room from the different parts of the house they had chosen to watch over.

"Somebody needs to go over and continue the watch on the mechanic. If our ghost can't be with the woman he loves he might be off killing someone he hates."

By somebody going over, Tom knew Bobby meant Sam and Dean.

Bobby looked around the room for a moment and then walked over to a side table. He picked up a framed photo and passed it over to Dean. "While you're there, see if he recognizes the little lady here."

Dean glanced at the photo. It was a studio shot of husband and wife. Edward's face was so happy, it almost hurt to look at it, while Mrs. Grant… Dean had to take a moment to think of her first name. Teena. Teena Grant stood next to her husband in the photo, smiling brilliantly, but plastically.

He didn't know why exactly, but the photo disturbed him in the same way a freaky haunted item would have, even though he was certain that the thing was completely mundane. Shivering slightly he passed it on to Sam, who put it into their duffel bag.

xxxxxxxx

Dean opened the door to the house and looked carefully outside.

"Okay."

He and his brother made their way out the entrance and across the lawn to the car. They hesitated briefly when a breeze kicked up. When nothing happened, they finished their journey, making it inside the car with a sigh of relief. With a slightly manic smile, Dean started the Impala and started driving, heading towards the airport.

xxxxxxxx

Back in the house, Mrs. Grant came downstairs, having washed and dressed. The expression on her face was clear. She really didn't want them there, but she wasn't willing to confront them about it. She settled for sniffing at them and going into the kitchen to make coffee.

Tom frowned at her as she left the room. He glanced at Bobby questioningly "So, what are you thinking? Double Indemnity maybe?"

Bobby took a second to translate the movie reference into English. "Maybe. Have to see if the boys find out anything more first.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke, Warner Brothers and quite possibly others who are not mentioned here. My Bloody Valentine belongs to Lionsgate and no doubt others as well. No money will be made from this fan fiction.

Author's note: This is what you get when you watch every existing episode of Supernatural, topped with a viewing of My Bloody Valentine. I hope it will entertain.

In and Out of Harmony

By Colleen

Chapter 6

Dean was just turning the Impala onto the airport road when a thought occurred to him.

"Hey, what's this guy's name?"

Sam shuffled a few of the papers he'd been working on during the drive.

"Cid Urdell.

Dean nodded, showed his badge to security and drove on through to the hanger they wanted. The large doors were open, the sound of music and someone banging away at something filtering out of the building. Dean parked and Sam played watch out while his brother opened the car's weapon cache. Stuffing a few essentials into a duffle bag, Dean slung it onto his shoulder, pausing as he reached up to slam the trunk shut.

The wind began to kick up and this time it didn't back down after a few seconds. Swearing, Dean finished closing the trunk and he and Sam double-timed it into the hanger.

The mechanic looked up from what he had been working on.

"Help you guys?"

Dean flashed his badge at him.

"We need this door down, now."

The guy blinked, suddenly realizing how bad the weather had turned.

"The close button is on the wall, to your right."

Turning to look, Dean quickly found it and slapped his hand down on it. As the door slowly lowered, a gust of wind drove a stream of twisting sand up into the mechanism, bringing the door to a halt with an unpleasant grinding noise.

No fool, Dean backed up. At the same time, the mechanic came forward to see if he could help.

A small whirlwind of sand blew in through the door. It passed Dean, almost seeming to ignore him in favour of hitting Cid. It twisted the mechanic around before it lost itself, falling apart in a gritty mess.

Sam grabbed the duffle bag from Dean and pulled out a pair of salt loaded shotguns. He handed one to his brother, along with a handful of extra cartridges and took the same for himself.

The hanger had a small, dry walled office off to the side. They pushed Cid inside and squeezed in themselves, closing the door. The sudden lack of rushing wind against their skin was a relief.

Cid brushed himself off. "Where did that come from?" He looked at the two agents, a little wary. In his experience law enforcement didn't usually carry sawed off shotguns.

"You spoke to our superior yesterday?" The tall one asked him. "About the skydiving accident and the problems with the plane."

"There were no problems with the plane."

The door to the office rattled, as if the wind was hammering a fist against it and they could hear as particles of sand bounced off the outer wall and started to creep in through any crack it could find.

"So why did some of it look like it had been chewed on by animals?" Dean asked. He had to raise his voice as the wind went up another notch and the door rattling became even louder.

Cid was frowning at the door when Sam reached out and touched his shoulder.

"You really need to answer that question. Your very life may depend on it."

Cid shuffled back from Sam and gave him a disturbed look.

"The sheriff told me not to discuss it."

"I'm sure he meant with reporters, not the FBI."

He sighed and then nodded. "Okay. Not sure it matters any longer, but I think that the pilot, Jasper Evans?" They nodded, recognizing the name. "I think he may have faked the engine trouble. He did mechanic work as well as flying and it wouldn't have been anything for him to land and change out the line for the screwed up one before anyone got to see it.

"Why?" Dean. "And if you think that's what happened then why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I don't know why, but I did tell someone. I told the sheriff until I was blue in the face. I think he thought I was trying to stick my screw up onto someone else.

The door slammed open then, a tube of swirling sand roaring just outside the opening. Sam and Dean raised their shotguns and fired.

The sudden silence was almost deafening. No wind, no sound and nothing to show there had been either except for a drift of sand across the floor.

Dean kept his gun trained on the sand pile while Sam pulled the photo Bobby had given them out of the duffle bag.

The mechanic was staring at the sand. "Uh, what's going on?"

Sam handed him the framed picture. "Let's just say, this guy is pissed at you."

Cid looked at the photo and shook his head. "He's the guy, I've had his photo shoved up in my face enough times to recognize…" He looked at the photo a little closer. "Oh."

They both looked at him. "Oh?"

Urdell licked his lips. "I've seen her around."

"Edward Grant's wife?"

Cid closed his eyes. "Crap." He opened them and looked at the photo again. "You stupid son of a bitch."

Somehow, they didn't think he meant Edward.

"You ever meet the wife?"

"Oh, I've met her; I just didn't know she was married. I might even add I hoped she wasn't."

Unnoticed the sand on the floor slowly started to move, working itself into a small circular pattern.

"So, you and her?"

"What? No. Her and Jasper.

The sand stopped, waiting for something.

Cid shrugged. "At first I thought she was just a student. You know, skydiving and flying. 'Cept one day I walked in on them using the office here for… well, you know."

Dean sighed. "No… I mean yes, but I'm afraid you'll have to spell it out for us."

"They were going at it like mad bunnies."

The roar of wind was sudden. Dean and Sam both snapped around, prepared to fire. Only the whirlwind didn't wait for them. It blasted its way out of the hanger doors, bobbed sideways and disappeared.

"Ohhh, crap." Dean quickly pulled out his cell phone and hit Bobby's number.

"Heads up, he may be heading your way and he's not happy with the Mrs."

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Bobby listened as Dean explained the rest of the situation. The older man sighed. "An affair, with the pilot that later got Mr. Grant killed. Well, it explains the fact that she is in mourning. It just isn't her husband she's crying for." He grimaced slightly as he thought to wonder if Mrs. Grant and Mr. Evans had planned to remove Mrs. Evans from the picture once things had calmed down from Mr. Grant's death.

He'd put at least a twenty down on Mr. Evans having added on to their insurance in the last few months before his own demise.

"Yeah." Dean countered back, interrupting Bobby's thoughts. "Ghost lucked out, got the guy who was doing his wife without knowing that he was doing her."

The older hunter shook his head at Dean's usual lack of eloquence, but didn't say anything.

"Okay. Much as it almost pains me to help her, we've still got to stop this ghost." He gave Tom a look. The young man nodded and went into the kitchen to talk to the wife. He might not know a lot about hunting, but he did know how to deal with a ghost.

"Mrs. Grant?"

The 'lady' was sucking back what was probably her third or fourth cup of coffee, assuming that she'd made a full pot. The way she was swaying slightly had him thinking there was probably more than coffee in her cup.

"Yes?"

"We need to know where your husband is buried."

She snorted. "Cremated him as soon as they released the body."

Well, that was a new one on him. He backed out of the room and went to tell Bobby.

"Damn. Okay, there must be something keeping him here. Maybe even something in this house."

"When you say something, do you mean like…true love?"

"Something physical." Bobby told him with a roll of his eyes. "Hair, blood, something of him that wasn't burned."

Tom grimaced. "There was probably a lot of that left behind at the quarry. Getting run over like that would have really spread that sort of thing around."

"Balls."

Dean was still on the phone, listening in.

"We could head over there, see if we can find the spot and… I don't know, dig it up and… Does sand burn?"

"Melts." Bobby replied. "That's why the quarry is there, to make glass. Don't matter though, it's the blood and other… bits trapped in the sand that need to burn."

"Okay, we're on our way there."

Bobby snapped his phone shut and was about to ask Tom to go watch Mrs. Grant when a sound like a freight train started up outside. Both men had lived in tornado rich areas and knew it didn't belong to a locomotive.

The front of the house was swallowed in a hyper fast swirl of sand. Bobby shoved Tom into the kitchen and followed. Both men faltered when they saw that it was empty, the back door hanging open. Knowing there wasn't time to follow, Bobby pointed to a set of stairs.

"Basement."

Tom moved fast enough that Bobby didn't have to push.

The cellar was a basic concrete box with a few things stored in it. Bobby and Tom immediately put themselves under the stairs and waited. The ghost storm ignored them, chewing through the house towards its target. Unfortunately, for Tom and Bobby, the upstairs destruction fell into the stairwell, blocking the exit from the basement.

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Since Tom had already been by the quarry, Dean had to stay in the car while Sam banged on the office door.

"What!"

The younger Winchester quirked an eyebrow at the man who opened the door and flipped his badge case open.

"FBI. I need to talk to you about some misplaced evidence."

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The basement stairs might be blocked, but there were still windows. Bobby was giving Tom a boost when they heard sirens in the distance. Someone in the neighbourhood must have noticed the tornado going through. Bobby continued to push and Tom was halfway out the window when the firefighters showed up and pulled him the rest of the way out. They made short work of getting Bobby free and then started dealing with all the problems that a destroyed house creates. Gas leaks were probable, not to mention all of the electrical and plumbing ripped apart that was now doing who the hell knows what.

The firemen tried to get the two of them over to the paramedics, but Bobby shook them off, once more using an FBI badge to good use. They headed after the ghost, which wasn't difficult. He'd left a very wide path of destruction in his wake.

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Sam helped drag the last of four barrels out of the storage shed. "You're sure that this is all of… him?"

The guy from the office nodded. "Yeah. Like I said, we weren't comfortable using any of that sand. So we dug it up and barrelled it. The sheriff told us to hold onto it until they finish with the investigation.

"Okay, we're going to have to take it with us as evidence." Sam looked from the barrels to the Impala. "You wouldn't happen to have a small trailer we could borrow, would you?"

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Tom and Bobby followed the destruction a block and a half over and into a park. The sound of screaming heard in the distance wasn't the noise of happy children playing loudly. The passed a few parents going in the opposite direction, either dragging or carrying their kids out of there.

"Nooo! No you bastard, you're dead."

Both men grimaced as they saw that Mrs. Grant had run right into the middle of the playground, endangering everyone in it. The parents and kids that hadn't already lit the hell out of there were backing away from the mad woman and the twisting column of sand that was following her.

Thankfully, the tornado had shrunk down to a smaller size from the one that had destroyed the house.

Lacking their shotguns, as they were now buried somewhere under the Grant's house, Bobby pulled out his backup stash of salt, opened the bag and flung it at the whirlwind.

Disrupted once more, the tiny tornado fell apart, the sand it was carrying mixing in with the play area's sandbox.

Mrs. Grant started to stomp on the spot where the whirlwind had been, ranting at the top of her voice. Bobby and Tom might have done something about it, but the sound of sirens was getting closer.

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As soon as was feasible, Dean pulled over. He and Sam manhandled the barrels off the small trailer and into a ditch. Opening them, they spread the bloody, foul smelling sand out and then liberally drenched it in lighter fluid and salt. They put some inside the barrels as well, needing to burn them out in case anything had stuck inside of them.

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Mrs. Grant was long past paying attention to anything around her. Even the cops that were creeping up on her.

"I hate you, I hate you. You should have stayed dead. I could have been happy if you'd just stayed dead."

There really wasn't anything anyone could do for her. She screamed as the whirlwind sprang back into life, exactly where she was standing.

Miles away, Dean dropped a lit pack of matches into the sand and it all went up with a whumph.

Back at the park, the column of sand caught fire at the bottom and swirled upward to the top. As the flame moved, the column crystallized into the finest of spun glass. So fine, it couldn't stand its own weight. With a crack, the whole of it shattered and what was left of Mrs. Grant's sand blasted body dropped wetly to the ground, to be buried in a glimmering pile of razor sharp spears of broken glass.

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Bleary of eye, Tom shook Bobby's hand goodbye. With everything that had happened, he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. His brain just wouldn't shut down. Now he was so tired he had to concentrate to make sense of what Bobby was saying.

"You keep in contact, hear? I realize that you're not interested in hunting, but the boys don't need to lose any more family than they already have, so stay in touch. And if you're ever out in South Dakota, come see me. Dean says your car really needs some help."

Hanniger snorted, but nodded. With a last wave at the man, Tom got into the backseat of the Impala. He was looking forward to getting his own car back and doing things that didn't involve dead bodies and ghosts.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke, Warner Brothers and quite possibly others who are not mentioned here. My Bloody Valentine belongs to Lionsgate and no doubt others as well. No money will be made from this fan fiction.

Author's note: This is what you get when you watch every existing episode of Supernatural, topped with a viewing of My Bloody Valentine. I hope it will entertain.

Extra Note: Working my way through Tom becoming a hunter on the way towards the MBV movie.

In and Out of Harmony

By Colleen

Chapter 7

After Sam and Dean dropped Tom off at his car, Hanniger headed south until he was well into Texas. He settled for a while and started picking up day work doing construction. He proved good enough at it that when the contractor took on a new site, he hired Tom for the duration of the build.

A couple of weeks of normal and Tom was still marvelling at how much better everything was now that he was ghost free. Having a spectre riding his ass tainted everything to the point where he hadn't been able to deal with the real world. Hence his many trips to the mental hospitals. Any other time he'd already have gotten into enough drunken fights to land in jail two or three times and would be a month or less from the meltdown that would see him back in the place with the happy pills. Now the occasional beer was the extent of the drinking and the violence had yet to rear its ugly head.

All of these good feelings were probably why it took him a few days to admit that the new site he was working on was haunted. That, and after his last two encounters he expected ghosts with every unexpected noise and fluttering breeze. He had to force himself to look for reasonable explanations for anything that seemed odd. So when tools and other small items disappeared, only to reappear after they were no longer needed, he chalked it up to simple forgetfulness.

The cold spots were another story.

They didn't show up till a few days later. The first time he ran into one he suddenly understood the reactions he'd seen in some of the other workers that day. Spring was very warm in Texas that year, but the men appeared chilled to the bone.

When Tom stepped into one of those spots, the cold cut right through to his spine. Breath misted out in a plume of white smoke and even though a moment before he'd thought he was so hot he was going to pass out from it, he couldn't move away from the chill fast enough.

The thing was, nothing else happened. Not then. Not for days. Not until the night-time security guard was beaten unconscious with a carpenter's level.

Tom didn't know him. Had only ever seen him in passing when he was finishing for the day. Even so, the attack was a punch to the gut. A horrible echo of a moment of forgetfulness and teenage attitude that caused the mine explosion, setting off a near decade of death, guilt and utter crap.

He didn't want responsibility for anyone's life but his own. He'd had enough of that with all the deaths attributed to his mistake. He just wanted to go his own way and not get anyone hurt doing it.

Only it was happening again. His inattentiveness and reluctance to call for help had almost gotten someone killed. Sure, maybe his cousins couldn't have helped, but they or Bobby probably knew someone who could.

He looked Dean's number up on his phone, but in the end, he didn't use it. This mistake was his and this time he was going to own up to it.

The site closed down for the day while the police looked things over. They obviously thought it was a break in. Thieves were always stealing equipment and supplies, it was the reason they had a guard on at night. He briefly entertained the thought that the police were right, but… The portable office where they'd found the guard was locked from the inside. Moreover, they'd had to break in, because every copy of the damn key had disappeared.

Besides, you'd think thieves would actually have taken something.

Tom used the day off from the site at the library. The obvious first step to finding out what was going on was to find out what had been on the land before the mini mall they were building. Sadly, he wasn't much of a researcher. Thankfully, the librarian was. She found him old city directories, the kind where people actually listed their addresses, names and professions. That told him not only what had been there before they started to build a strip mall, but also who had lived there, at least up until the early eighties.

Allworth House had been a grand manor of the day. Built in the early nineteen hundreds it had seen the family that owned it through times good and bad.

He tracked down the last owner listed by her obituary. Elizabeth Allworth lived there her entire life, dying there at the age of eighty-three. A small newspaper article recapped the last days of both the lady and the house. The home had fallen into disrepair over the years, the city condemning it shortly before Miss Allworth's death. Refusing to leave, she dared them to try to remove her. When the Sheriff's department arrived to do just that, she was already dead.

Using microfiche, he tracked a series of articles about the city trying to make use of the land. Problems plagued the site. Just getting the house torn down had injured five workers, one of them badly enough that it required amputation. Since the demolition, three different companies had attempted to do something with the lot. The first never broke ground and the next two quit at the foundation level.

It was beginning to look like Elizabeth hadn't left, and she had no interest in shopping in what had once been her home.

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Digging up Elizabeth was a lot calmer than unearthing Harry Warden had been. There wasn't a peep out of her ghost as he broke open the coffin and salted and burned her corpse. It was enough to make him think he'd missed something, but the next day at work the tools stayed put and the cold spots vanished. A few days later, when nothing said boo, Tom collected his last pay cheque and headed out of town.

Feeling restless, he travelled the state, taking day work when it presented itself. It wasn't until he found another haunting that he realized he'd been searching for one. Annoyed with himself, he never the less figured out who the ghost had been and did what was known in the business as a simple salt and burn. He moved again, this time finding work as a waiter at a chicken place. He might have stayed there for some time, except that was when he came across evidence of what he would later find out was a werewolf.

Not knowing what he was dealing with, he called his cousins. Dean answered, sounding stressed and unwilling to talk about whatever was going on. He passed Tom onto Bobby and he realized they must both be in it deep because they didn't say a thing about Tom hunting. Bobby did some checking. Turned out there was already another hunter in the area who was an old friend of Bobby's. The older hunter arranged a meeting for the two of them so Tom could pass on the information he had already gathered.

A few hours later, in a roadside diner, in a town Tom would eventually forget the name of; he met Rufus Turner.

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"Damn. Bobby told me you look a lot like Dean Winchester, but I didn't think he meant exactly."

Rufus… Actually, Rufus was exactly what Tom was expecting to meet when it came to a contemporary of Bobby Singers. The man was grizzled, bold, knowledgeable and downright scary. Tom didn't mess around; he simply laid out everything he knew about the deaths in the area.

"Yep. Werewolf."

Tom was taking a sip of his coffee at the time, even though he should have known better. "Werewolf?" His voice came out a little squeaky.

Rufus gave him a quiet chuckle. "Yeah. Your first I take it."

Tom nodded.

"So, what have you been hunting?"

"Ghosts, four so far. The first two, well, it was with Sam and Dean and they were odd. That last two that I did were straightforward. Salt, burn and everything went back to normal."

"You've actually hunted with the Winchesters?"

"Yeah. Oh, and Bobby was at the second one. They actually met up with him to help. I was just along for the ride."

"Okay, but are you planning to stay along for the ride?"

Tom drained the last of his coffee. "I don't know. I wasn't intending to continue doing this, but…"

Rufus snorted. "Not sure I want a newbie dogging my heels, especially one that doesn't know what he wants, but hell; every hunter needs to break their werewolf cherry sometime. Might as well do yours now."

"Gee, thanks."

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Tom walked through the park, cursing. What Rufus didn't tell him was that the newbie hunter got to break his werewolf cherry by being the bait.

"Here wolfie, wolfie. Fresh meat, come and get it." He whispered under his breath. A full moon hung in the sky, an all too bright reminder that things might become very painful, very soon.

"Come on, we don't have all night." And they didn't have any other nights. Once this one was over, they would have to wait another month for the next full moon and a chance to take this thing down.

"What do I have to do, ring a dinner bell?" He asked himself, as he made ready to take another circuit of the park. His steps faltered as a low growl, one he felt more than heard, rumbled around him. Stick him underground in a labyrinth and he could probably have told you where it was coming from. In open air, he was a little lost. He took a step in what he thought would be the opposite direction from the sound and froze when he realized he'd made the wrong choice.

A man shaped thing leaped out of the brush at him. Tom dove sideways, trying to avoid teeth and claws. He rolled, came up standing and started to run.

"Rufus!" Behind him, the werewolf took a swipe at him and Tom felt a sudden draft along his back. He didn't bother to call out for the other hunter a second time. Instead, he saved his breath and put it into doubling his speed.

The extra speed probably wouldn't have helped over the long haul, but he never got to find out. One foot in a hole made by some sort of burrowing rodent and he went down hard enough to knock the air out of him. Tripping was such a bad monster movie cliché, one that was about to get him killed.

Splayed out on the ground, gasping for breath, he didn't hear the rifle shot. He did feel the werewolf slam into him, throwing him flat again. He struggled, expecting to feel teeth and claws at any moment.

When he didn't, he heaved the werewolf off of him and scrambled away on his knees. It took him a few seconds to realize that the werewolf was dead. Rifle in hand, Rufus stepped up next to him.

"So, figured out yet if you want to ride, drive or get the hell off the bus?"

Tom glowered at him. "As soon as I can stand, I am so punching you out."

Rufus' smile was evil, but he nodded. "You can try newbie, you can try."

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He did try and the old man completely humiliated him. Rufus let him try three times. The first time he actually caught Tom's fist and put him on the ground with a twist. The second and third times he simply stepped out of the way and gave the younger man a push, letting gravity do the rest.

If Tom had been as young and stupid as he'd been back when his troubles first started, he probably would have walked.

He hoped he'd never be that idiotic again. Of course, one could argue that his new direction in life made dumb look smart, but when it came to hunting, that's just the way things were.

He hadn't admitted it to himself, but he was sticking around for the long haul. Even if it was just for the chance to maybe one day drop Rufus to the ground.

"That'll be the day kid. That'll be the day."

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Rufus pulled away from the phone, a pissed off Bobby on the other side.

"I said help him, not use him for bait and darn near get him killed you damn fool."

Gingerly Rufus brought the phone closer to his ear. "Technically, I was helping…"

Too late, he jerked the phone away as Bobby slammed the receiver down on his end. Hissing slightly and rubbing his ear, Rufus never the less had a smile on his face. Sure, maybe he thought that the kid should turn tail and run, not stopping until he found himself a girl and settled down. However, one look at him and Rufus knew none of that was going to happen. So he might as well let the kid know exactly what he was getting into before getting down to the brass tacks of teaching him how to stay alive while he did it.

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Tom realized he must like the deep end, because now that he was really working the job, that's where he was. He thanked the woman he'd been speaking to, masquerading as a reporter. Shaking slightly, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Rufus. The older hunter was running research from his place in Vermont, but had sent Tom fact gathering in New York after reports of what had happened there started to filter through to him.

"Hey. Yeah, it's me." Tom got to his jeep and sort of deflated against the side of it. "Like the news reported. Teacher locked down the school and went on a killing rampage. No one knows why. Oh, they got the initial numbers wrong. Sixty-six died, not sixty-four." He nodded into the phone. "No problem. I'm more than ready to head back."

He got into the Bronco and started it up, sparing the school across the street a last glance.

"More than ready."

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Rufus' research turned up several more anomalies. Anomalies he reported to Bobby, even with the man threatening to kill him over the thing with Tom.

"The end of the world is nigh." Rufus sighed and poured himself a glass of Johnny Walker Blue. "Sure as shit didn't expect to still be here to see it."

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Rufus was teaching his young apprentice… aka Tom, the finer points of computer research when an abandoned convent in Illchester went up in a flair of white light. He let Tom prove he'd actually learned something. The young man pulled up everything he could on the convent and the surrounding area. What he discovered wasn't good. Rufus couldn't be sure, be he suspected that they'd just found ground zero for the countdown that had been running all year.

A call to Bobby netted him nothing. The man wasn't home and he wasn't answering any of his cell phones. So he started reaching out to other hunters. They passed on what they knew, which was damn little. A little more research and Rufus noticed something gathering around a small town in Colorado.

"There are demon omens up around River Pass, Colorado."

Tom decided to sit down. "Demons."

"I have taught you something about them."

"Well sure, but still, demons."

"Yeah. You know, use to be there might be three or four demon takedowns in a year. At least, that's all you'd ever hear about. Now, it seems like you can't turn around without tripping over one of the bastards." He glanced out a window at the world going by. "And it's probably only going to get worse from here on out."

He let Tom absorb that for a moment.

"So, you up for this?"

Tom nodded. "Yeah." He sighed. "Lucky me, a brand new cherry to pop."

Rufus smiled. "One of these days we'll get you completely de-virginised."

Tom raised his eyebrows. "I'm not sure I swing that way."

With a snort, Rufus sent him to start packing.

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In the end, Tom's first run in with demons didn't even turn out to be demons. He groaned slightly, watching as Dean played with a ring.

"War. You were serious about that. As in one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, that War?"

Dean tried on a smirk, but his heart wasn't in it. "Yeah. It's the end of days, kid."

"Well… Fuck."

"About sums it up."

"And I just got my head back together."

Now Dean did manage the smirk. "Figures don't it? Every time something good happens…"

"Yeah, but this kind of takes the prize."

"You know Cuz; you could just bail out of this hunting thing. You're not in too deep yet. Go live whatever is left. Hell, grab Jo and take her with you. Ellen would thank you for it."

Tom looked at him for a moment and then snort laughed.

Dean sighed. "Yeah, okay. So that idea is right up there with the invention of the tofu burger." He stuffed War's ring into a pocket and stood up. "Come on, the hike back to the cars won't be any more fun than the hike in was."

On the trip out, Sam mentioned that Bobby was laid up, possibly permanently. Rufus looked like he was chewing on something before he finally said anything about it.

"Tom. You should go visit the old goat."

"Huh?" Was the collectively voiced opinion of everyone else in the group.

"It sounds like Bobby could use a hand and you could learn a lot from him. It would be a win, win situation."

Tom gave him a fishy look. "You sure?"

"Am I sure that I get to foist you off on the old pain in the ass. Hell yes. Just wish I could take pictures.

Tom nodded. "Okay, I'll see if Bobby is willing to help me."

Sam and Dean looked at him surprised. "Wow, you're smarter than we probably would have been about it." Dean said.

"Nah." Tom replied. "Just sneakier."

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Bobby gave him a sideways look when Tom showed up on his doorstep. Despite Hanniger's more than passing resemblance to Dean, he could always tell the two of them apart. A lot of Tom just showed on the surface, while Dean tended to bury everything as deep as he could. Normally he'd figure this for a set up, but the kid really did need the extra training and he'd be safer with him than with Rufus.

They started with fake Ids.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke, Warner Brothers and quite possibly others who are not mentioned here. My Bloody Valentine belongs to Lionsgate and no doubt others as well. No money will be made from this fan fiction.

Summary: A year and a half before his father died and he went home to sell the mine, Tom met up with two hunters in a motel. There's no way his reality could stay the same after that.

Author's note: Sadly, while the Winchesters can make changes in Tom's life, he really isn't able to change theirs. Just so you know.

Chapter 8

The first time Tom met Castiel, was shortly after the new hunter came to stay with Bobby. The older hunter was parked at his desk, running a computer search. Tom sat in a chair by the bookcases and was flipping through a tome on how to hunt and kill… just about everything.

A sound like wings flapping caught both their attentions, and then a man in a trench coat was standing in Bobby's library.

Proving that Tom did have a hunter's reflexes, he dropped the book and drew a gun on the man before his brain even had the chance to think about it.

Bobby glared at the stranger for a moment before speaking to Tom. "Put that away. It won't work and you'll probably end up putting holes in my furniture. And pick up that book."

Tom would have followed instructions, but the man in the trench coat glanced at him and Tom froze. He had never met a gaze that… absolute before in his life. The man frowned slightly and tilted his head.

"Interesting."

"Ain't it though." Bobby wheeled himself out from behind his desk and moved over to the stranger. Once he got there, he looked at Tom and sighed.

"Gun, book."

Startled, Tom realized he was still holding the gun on the guy. As quickly as was safe to, he put it away. He also picked up the book.

Bobby made introductions. "Castiel, meet Tom Hanniger, Sam and Dean's cousin. Tom, this is Castiel, he's…"

"I am an angel of the Lord."

Tom's lips quirked in a smile, until he saw the expression on Bobby's face.

Then he sat down. Thankfully, the chair hadn't moved.

"Angel?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes. It is good to meet you, Tom Hanniger." He turned to Bobby. "I must speak with Dean. Do you know where he is?"

Bobby sighed. "Yeah. He's on a vamp hunt." He reeled off the name of a motel, the room number and the city where it was located. Castiel nodded and disappeared.

"You're welcome!" Bobby shook his head. "Friggin' angels."

"Huh."

Bobby smirked at the younger man. "You gonna lose it on me?"

Tom's mouth opened, although no sound came out for a few seconds.

"I'd say… yes. That sounds good actually."

"Knock yourself out kid."

Tom nodded and put his head between his knees. Hyperventilating. Yes, that sounded just about right.

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Tom took the opportunity of a salvage yard, garage space and tools, to work on the Bronco. Car maintenance was something his father had insisted on along with… well, along with other things. His past failures drilled extra care into him when it came to mechanics and yet he found working on the vehicle relaxing. Engines and brakes and fuel pumps made sense. Angels, demons and the end of the world; that was heavier shit than he'd signed up for. So working on the car gave him the peace of mind to let him pretend to deal with the rest of it.

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A few weeks later and it was obvious that Bobby didn't need him around. Tom learned a lot from him, but it was time to take the book learning and the training and make it work in the real world. He spent the next two days looking for a job and then left Bobby's on his first true demon hunt. Not alone of course. Singer set him up with a hunter named Preston, who knew what he was doing when it came to the black-eyed son's of bitches.

Preston was a few years younger than Bobby and could talk a blue streak about nothing. He reminded Tom of a few of his Father's friends and was surprised to find the thought strangely comforting rather than annoying.

They tracked the demon to Wyoming, trapping it in a barn near Devil's Tower, of all places. The older hunter made Tom draw out the devil's trap, checking him on it all the way. Now the younger man became annoyed, but he shoved it down. Sloppiness kills and he was never going to let that happen again.

When they had it trapped, they exorcised it. Preston used a somewhat longer exorcism than the one Bobby showed him. Because of that, they alternated parts. Tom's Latin was painful to listen to and only just understandable enough to get the job done. When they parted, Elwood told him he'd done a good job, but suggested he have Bobby work with him on the Latin. When you went into an exorcism, you didn't want to go stumbling over the pronunciation.

Tom winced, but agreed.

Back at Bobby's place, he found the other hunter had been out with Sam and Dean. He didn't know what they'd been up to, but it must have been weird, as Bobby seemed mildly embarrassed about it. The only clue Tom picked up was a muttered comment about Dean and a poker game. He'd have asked, but decided it wasn't important enough to invade Bobby's privacy over.

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Tom met up with Sam and Dean on occasion, when they were between jobs. They used the time to help him work on the physical skills Rufus started training him in. Tom was fit, but treating his entire body as a weapon was something you had to learn until it was ingrained.

His cousins certainly had. Now, they taught him.

By the end of their first session, he'd added two more people to his 'hope to drop into the dirt' list, his two cousins taking the slots just after Rufus.

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In between helping Bobby research some of the weirder crap his cousins kept falling into, Tom began seriously hunting. Alone, when it was something he had dealt with before. With backup that Bobby would hook him up with, when it was something he'd never seen. Occasionally, someone he'd worked with would call Tom up for help. This was how he ended up in Mexico with Rufus, hunting a chupacabra.

Dean's call was something of a surprise and when he heard what it was about, he suspected Bobby made him call.

"I can be there by tomorrow." Tom told him, his voice telling Dean not to argue.

Not that he'd listen.

"No. You have a hunt there, finish it."

"Dean… I still don't quite believe I'm about to say this, but you're going after Lucifer and maybe even Death. Magic gun or not, you need all the help you can get. Rufus can finish dealing with the chupacabra."

"It's killed two children. Finish the hunt."

"Then wait until I come back."

"Sorry, it's got to be now. We're not going to get another chance and even if you left right this moment you wouldn't be back in time."

"What about…"

Dean cut him off mid sentence. "Cas can't waste any mojo right now just to go and get you."

Tom growled. "You planned that, didn't you?"

Dean laughed, but Tom heard the weariness in his voice.

"No, not really. Just sort of worked out that way."

"Dean."

"Finish the hunt you're on. When you come back, maybe we'll have two successes to celebrate."

Angry, Tom punched the wall he was standing next to. Dean believed what he was saying just about as much as Tom did.

In other words, not at all.

"Damn it Dean, you and Sam die out there and I'll find a way to track you down and kick your asses in the after life. You get me?"

"We get you. Just… stay safe man." He hung up before Tom could say anything else.

Balling his fist up Tom contemplated hitting the wall again, but decided that the first time hurt enough.

What he really needed was to kill something.

Thankfully, Rufus came up with a lead just about then.

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When he got back to Bobby's place, it was to find that the magic gun everyone was pinning their hopes on hadn't worked. Lucifer was alive, Death was free and Ellen and Jo were gone. Depression lay as a thick pall over everything. Even Castiel, when he stopped in briefly, was obviously hit hard by recent events, odd cracks showing through his stoicism.

Tom let them wallow in it for a week, then he found a hunt and dragged Dean and Sam along to help him, as he'd never taken on a djinn before.

A couple of weeks later, they took him along to bag a Wendigo. After the hunt, Tom decided he'd never go camping again.

After the job, they separated. Sam and Dean went off to help an old hunter friend of theirs while Tom tracked down a werewolf and took it down solo.

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On occasion, Tom still took day jobs when he was out on the road and not working a hunt. Dean was teaching him the finer points of hustling pool when he could, but while Tom was a decent player, he wasn't at that level.

True, he was also working the credit card fraud angle, but he wasn't very comfortable with it and he didn't use them if he didn't need to. He even went so far as to make payments, preferring to keep the cards active if he could. So far, he'd only had to completely fry one card and dump that identity. He knew it would happen again, but he figured he could at least stretch the time between such incidences out as much as he could.

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Tom heard about Sam and Dean's run in with Famine when he stopped off at Bobby's and found his younger cousin locked into the safe room in the basement, going through detox.

Everyone tiptoed around for a couple of days, waiting. Even the angel, whom Tom realized was hanging around to give Dean what emotional support he could.

When he thought about it, that was one strange relationship. So he generally didn't think about it.

Those were some long bad days and even once Sam was out of the room it took close to another week before the shakes stopped.

Tom went on a hunt with them after that, heading off on his own once it was done and Sam appeared to have it back together.

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The next time Tom stopped at Bobby's place, it was to meet the hunter's wife. Or more specifically, his long dead wife.

Apparently, this was another sign of the apocalypse. One that Bobby was hoping would see some good come of it. The dead were rising in Sioux Falls and they were zombies, but they had intact minds and bodies. Mrs. Singer was a wonderful woman and although Bobby didn't go into details, it seemed it was her original death that got him into hunting.

He was so unbelievably happy and yes, scared to have her back. Tom honestly had a bad feeling about things, but he stepped back and let them be, keeping an eye out just in case.

After Sam and Dean showed up, things started to deteriorate until they hit zombie apocalypse. Bobby had to kill his wife a second time. As he sat in his wheelchair before her funeral pyre Bobby told them that Karen passed on a message from Death. The entire incident was aimed squarely at the older hunter in an attempt to either kill him or break him. The reason. He was helping the Winchesters and was one of the things keeping Sam from saying yes to Lucifer.

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A hunt or so later, Tom was on his way to meet his cousins at a motel. Since Dean out and out told him they were planning to tie one on when he'd called him last night, Tom didn't rush. He figuring he'd let them sleep it off and deal with the worst of the hangovers before showing up. So, about one town over from where he was supposed to meet them, he found the nearest bar and went in to grab a sandwich and a beer. He was enjoying both when two men came in. The one in front froze, causing the one behind him to run into him. This in turn caused Tom to look up at them.

They were staring at Tom as if they'd just seen a ghost. For a moment, it appeared to be a toss up between them pulling whatever weapons he was sure they had on them and opening fire, or….

They backed out of the bar. Tom moved to a window and watched them climb into a truck and start yelling at each other.

Since he didn't know them, he suspected whatever problem they had was with Dean. Tom was digging into his pocket for his cell phone when a voice beside almost made him swallow his tongue.

"They killed Sam and Dean."

Castiel was standing beside him, looking out the window at the two men in the truck.

"Fu… What?"

"They killed Sam and Dean. I found their bodies in a motel room the next town over. The shotgun they used disrupted the warding I placed on the boys' ribs."

Tom felt his knees weaken and he grabbed the windowsill. "They're dead?"

"Yes. I was able to speak with them a couple of times. They are trying to find the garden to talk with Joshua."

The two men in the truck had gotten back out and were searching the parking lot for something. Probably the Impala.

Tom shook his head. "I… I didn't quite understand that."

"Sam and Dean are in Heaven. I was able to get a message through to them to seek out Joshua in the garden. He may know where God is."

"Oh…" Tom glanced back at the bar. "This is going to take so much more than beer."

"This is not the time for alcohol."

Tom looked at him as if he were insane.

"The Winchesters will not be allowed to stay dead. They cannot say yes to Michael and Lucifer if they are. Zachariah will return them to life once he finds them."

Tom grimaced. He'd never had the misfortune to meet Zachariah, but the guy sounded like an utter bastard. He would have said something to that effect, but the guys from the truck had just pulled out some very large guns.

Tom glanced over at Castiel, who wouldn't quite meet his gaze.

"I am going to deal with Roy and Walt now. I would appreciate it if you never mention this to Dean or Sam."

Before Tom could say anything, Castiel disappeared. When he looked out the window, the two men, their guns and their truck were also gone.

Tom walked back to the bar and ordered a whiskey. When he finally met up with his alive again cousins, he didn't mention his short meeting with the angel.

The next time he saw Castiel, he didn't ask him anything about it either.

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A couple of weeks later, a pissed off Tom hiked out of the woods he'd been searching the last three days. His cousins told him that Bigfoot was a hoax, so of course he had to go traipsing through the woods just to prove it to himself.

He was tired, he was wet and he still hated camping.

This latest run of sightings turned out to be half bear and half college students with giant strap on feet and a penchant for practical jokes.

He put a call into Bobby, expecting the older hunter to indulge in an 'I told you so' or two.

After his call, Tom vowed to buy a satellite phone in case he was ever stupid enough to go into the woods again. He'd missed far too much while he was away on his snipe hunt.

Sam and Dean had a half brother named Adam, who had been dead but was now alive. Angels had grabbed him and Sam and Dean tried, but hadn't been able to get him back. From what they could tell, he'd probably been taken as a vessel for Michael.

Castiel had banished several angels during the fight to recover Adam, including himself. He was still missing.

Oh, and the archangel Gabriel was dead in a separate incident, killed by Lucifer while trying to help the Winchesters Tom hadn't even realized his cousins knew him.

Tom packed up his crap and headed towards South Dakota.

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Hanniger didn't know what was more shocking. Castiel, who was back and apparently now human, the fact that Bobby had sold… or at least pawned his soul to a demon, or that the older hunter actually kissed Crowley (there was a picture).

A short while later he dismissed those choices. Bobby, standing once again on his own two feet, that was shocking. It was also welcome, especially when you were off to try to stop a zombie apocalypse… again, while Dean was heading off to try to kill Death.

Very, very deep end of the pool.

Sam tossed them all one more shock with his plan to say yes to Lucifer, but keep control of his body and jump back into the cage with him. Even worse, Castiel thought it might have a chance at success, if nothing else because Sam and Dean had a tendency to beat all of the odds thrown at them.

It was still a terrible idea though.

When they raided Niveus, Sam was the one that really did the heavy lifting, getting everyone that was still human out to safety. Tom helped plant the bombs, explosives being something he was good at. Hanniger Mine didn't blast that often, but sometimes you had too. As he'd done just about every job in the place at his father's insistence, he'd learned that part of it as well.

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Detroit. Sam said yes and tried to hold the devil.

It didn't work.

Dean apparently found out where the fight between Michael and Lucifer would go down, intending to be there for Sam no matter what happened. Castiel and Bobby tried to talk him out of going, but Dean was not going to let his brother die alone. Bobby and the angel followed him. Tom was bringing up the rear when the Bronco gave a gasp and a shudder and coasted to a dead stop. A look at the engine and Tom knew exactly what had happened.

The only question was, which of them had done it?"

He answered his phone on the first ring.

"Sorry kid."

Tom growled. "Bobby, what the hell?"

"I want to see somebody from your crazy ass family survive the night. I probably can't save the boys, so it looks like it's you." He ended the call. Tom called him back three times, but he never answered.

He managed to jury-rig a fix with the miscellaneous items he had in the back of the Bronco, getting back on the road. He drove, following some weird gut thing that told him he needed to be in Kansas, then Lawrence and then a cemetery just outside of Dean and Sam's birthplace.

He arrived just in time to watch Sam and another man take a header into a giant sucking hole in the ground. Bobby was lying on the ground, possibly dead and Dean… Didn't look much better.

The hole closed and suddenly Castiel was there. He reached out and touched Dean, healing him. He then moved on to Bobby and did the same. From the hunter's reaction when he opened his eyes, Tom was sure he really had been dead.

He was pissed at Bobby, but he still moved to help the older man to his feet.

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The drive back was lonely. Bobby returned his missing hose, so it was smoother, but all Tom could think about was that Sam was…lost. Dead just didn't seem to cover it. Dean was also lost, though in a different way. Once they were back at Bobby's, the elder and now lone Winchester said his goodbyes. He was heading to Cicero. Sam made Dean promise to look up an old girlfriend and see if he could build a life with her.

Tom left shortly after. He was still pissed at Bobby.

But a week later, when the older man called for help hunting a rugaru, Tom went.

Author's note: Coming next, what happens to the events of the movie if Tom is no longer possessed?


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke, Warner Brothers and quite possibly others who are not mentioned here. My Bloody Valentine belongs to Lionsgate and no doubt others as well. No money will be made from this fan fiction.

Summary: A year and a half before his father died and he went home to sell the mine, Tom met up with two hunters in a motel. There's no way his reality could stay the same after that.

Author's note: A little pre movie set up.

In and Out of Harmony

By Colleen

Chapter 9

On December 27th, two days after Christmas, Tom opened the door to a semi-seedy hotel room in Kansas City, Kansas and sighed. He entered, dumped his duffle bags on the bed and fought off another sigh with a shake of his head.

"Your own damn fault, so stop whining. Dean asked you to stay through New Years. Hell, Bobby offered as well and you can still head up there if you feel like it."

He'd stopped by Dean's place in Cicero to drop off a small present and a couple of cards and got sucked into the holiday at Lisa's insistence. If the hunt he'd just taken care of hadn't been real, he would suspect he'd been set up. As it was, Dean appeared relieved to have someone else around who was just as lost at celebrating family holidays as he was.

True, Tom use to be good at them, once upon a time. However, after all those Christmases celebrated in the psych ward, he wasn't anymore at ease with them than Dean was.

That aside, it was good to be there. Good to be with family, even if it was a sharp reminder that they'd lost Sam. Dean still hurt over it. Would always hurt over it, but Tom hoped Lisa and Ben would be able to fill some part of the hole Sam left, eventually.

He just hoped they didn't end up falling into the hole with Dean. He knew an emotional chasm like that could easily swallow the little family Dean was trying to become part of.

Feeling that his thoughts were about to wander off into truly depressing territory, he shut them down and left the room in search of lunch and the closest library. He had to find a job before he ended up spending the whole holiday mulling over Dean's problems as a method of avoiding his own. Either way, he did not need to spend what was left of the season wallowing in guilt over old memories and lost chances.

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When he came back to the room hours later, he paused at the door before inserting his key. Every hunter instinct he'd begun to cultivate was doing its best impression of a spidey sense, telling him his room wasn't empty. Sadly, it didn't tell him who was invading his privacy.

Options. He could get a look at the room via the fire escape. Not a good choice, as the weather made climbing the thing unsafe for anything other than a true emergency. Hmm. He could walk away… He only just managed to stifle the snort he wanted to give that idea. Not knowing would eat at him, besides; his stuff was still in the room.

That left him with his last two options. He could go in fast, or slow.

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The man, if that was what he was, jumped when the room door slammed open and Tom came in, gun drawn. With a slight frown, the trespasser raised his hands in a placating manner. Most would have taken it to be a sign of surrender. Tom didn't.

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my room?"

The guy held up a flip case, rather like the one Tom used for his fake Ids.

"My name's Lanthom. I'm a private detective. I was sent by your Father to bring you home."

Tom groaned. Why couldn't the guy have just been a demon? He shook his head, lowered the gun and flicked the safety on.

"Sorry, but that's not happening."

"I'm afraid it is. I'll use force if I have to." He pulled out his own gun.

Tom looked the guy over. The private detective had about an inch and thirty pounds on him. Good pounds, pounds that had been cultivated as muscle, not packed on as fat.

"Doesn't matter. I'm still not going with you."

Glowering, the PI moved towards Tom.

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He was still glowering as he struggled against the duct tape tying him to the craptastic desk chair the hotel room sported. Tom stood behind the PI, going through his wallet.

"Credit Card, Bank Card, Health Club Card…" Tom gave the guy a smirk but decided against saying anything. After all, the PI was in good shape and he knew his stuff. It just didn't mean much when it came up against someone who had picked up a few tricks from a hunter like Rufus Turner.

Not to mention Sam and Dean Winchester.

Tossing the wallet and contents onto the bed, he bent down to rummage through Lanthom's other pocket.

"Letter… Letter addressed to me." Tom made a sound that best described as a growl and crumpled the missive into a ball before punting it across the room. "Close to ten years with no word from him and now he wants to talk? Hell, no."

The young man quickly collected his stuff and headed to the door. "Don't worry. I'm sure someone will let you loose, sooner or later." He left the guy fighting the bindings and went downstairs to turn in his key and check out. Hopefully housekeeping wouldn't rush to clean the room. He'd take what he could get, but he really would appreciate at least an hour's head start.

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The next day in Omaha, Nebraska, two men in a van attempted to grab him. One of them was his friend from the hotel and he didn't look happy. He was probably even less happy after he woke up in the back of the van with a headache and handcuffed to the extra 'help' he'd hired.

The hunter was at a gas station in Sioux City when the PI with new help tried again. The guy was learning. Tom came away from the incident with a black eye and bruised ribs and the knowledge that if he continued on his way to Sioux Falls he'd get Bobby involved in the stupidity and he didn't want that. Also, Tom couldn't keep this up forever. Eventually the Private Dick would get lucky.

That left him with two options. Kill the PI and every other detective Hanniger Sr. sent after him, or go see his father.

"Really, why couldn't he have just been a demon?"

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It was the morning of December 31st, when Tom stood outside his childhood home. He frowned at it; some part of him hoping if he did it hard enough, the place and memories attached to it would consent to go away.

Lanthom stood beside him, fidgeting. Tom Hanniger had not been the easy pickup he'd expected. From the way the Father spoke about him, the kid was a whiny brat, who ran away from his responsibilities and needed to come home, suck it up and start working in the family business again. Even with the oddities he'd come across while tracking him, he hadn't predicted any problems with the job.

After skipping on him three times, the same 'brat' had ambushed him in the bathroom of a diner, thankfully waiting until after he'd used the facilities. Hanniger stripped him of his gun and knife and told him he'd get them back after he talked to his father.

It took him a second to realize what that meant. "So after all this, you're just agreeing to go home?"

Tom shrugged. "I can't keep dodging guys like you the rest of my life. I've got too much to do and your type just gets in the way. Eventually you'll either get yourself or me killed."

Lanthom didn't know what the kid was into and he realized he didn't want to know. He was just going to collect his money and never work for his old man again.

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After his stare down with the house, Tom walked up to the front door and rang the bell. He didn't recognize the maid who answered, so he just stood there and let Lanthom do the explaining. The maid showed them into the study, then left to inform his father they were there.

Tom dropped into an armchair, sticking his legs out and crossing them at the ankles. After a minute, he started to twiddle his thumbs. He would have held the position when his father came in, but one look at the man had him straightening in his seat. He now knew why his father was trying to get hold of him.

He was dying.

Eli Hanniger had always been a strong man and you could still see echoes of that strength, but illness was obvious even just in the way he sat down at his desk. He was trying to hide it, but the short distance to the study had tired him out. A part of Tom didn't want to give a damn. The rest (a sneaky, underhanded part of him, he was certain), remembered loving and looking up to this man. It was a solid hit to his emotions that he couldn't ignore.

Didn't mean he'd do anything his father wanted, especially as he had a good idea what would be asked of him. The life he'd chosen was not rainbows and lollipops. It was nasty and crappy and would eventually get him killed, but from the day he and the Winchesters put down the ghost of Harry Warden, it was the right life for him, even if he hadn't realized it at the time.

And as usual, his dad didn't endear himself to Tom by ignoring him to deal with other business.

"Mr. Lanthom. Thank you for returning my son to me."

Tom shook his head slightly. He made it sound like the PI was returning a lost puppy he'd found wandering in the park.

The detective gave the old man a disgruntled look and nodded. "You're welcome. I'd like to be paid now."

The elder Hanniger looked surprised at the bluntness of the request, but brushed it off a moment later. "Of course." He pulled an envelope out of the desk and passed it to Lanthom.

"Paying with cash so no one knows you hired someone to strong arm me home?" Tom asked. His father gave him as sour look, but he could tell the detective thought his assessment was correct.

Lanthom gave the money a quick look, and then tucked it into the inner breast pocket of the jacket he was wearing. "Thanks. I'll see myself out." He gave Tom a meaningful look and the younger man smirked before pulling the PI's gun and knife out of his jacket pockets. His father looked on confused as he handed them over to the detective, who grunted his thanks. Lanthom didn't bother taking the time to put the weapons in their proper places before leaving the room. He simply got out as fast as he could.

'Pops' apparently decided to ignore whatever was going on between his son and the detective.

"Tom."

"Dad?"

"I assume you read the letter I sent you?"

Tom shook his head. "Nope, sorry. Figured if you had something to say to me, you could do it to my face."

"Alright then. You need to come home."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Given that I'm here, I guess you mean for more than a visit." He sighed. "Any particular reason why? You didn't seem to miss me enough to send someone after me before now."

His father stiffened.

"I did miss you. I simply thought you needed time."

Tom snorted. "Ten years is a lot of time. I could have been dead for all you knew. Besides, I was a lot easier to find a few years ago."

Actually, being found was still annoying Tom, mostly because the private investigator had done it by tracing the Bronco. It wasn't under Tom's real name, but he had 'sold' it to one of his fake identities, using a post office box he kept under that name for the address when insuring it. Lanthom had decided to question the new 'owner'. He staked the box out and got lucky when Tom stopped by to pick up his mail. Now he was going to have to 'resell' the jeep a few times and make sure nothing could lead back to him. To top it off, he'd have to close out his other mail drops, dump all his current IDs and get a new phone.

Over cautious perhaps, but while Sam and Dean gave him a basic grounding in credit card fraud and fake IDs, it was Bobby Singer who taught him the finer art of identity creation. And you didn't spend any time as Bobby's student without picking up a little healthy paranoia.

Tom broke off his musing when his father started coughing. The younger man began to rise, intending to help him, but the older man waved him off, pulling himself back together.

"I thought that maybe, if I gave you enough time, you'd come to your senses on your own."

Tom couldn't help but laugh at the very idea. "Come to my senses." He shook his head. "Well, I did come to them. It took help, help I admit you couldn't give me, but I wished you'd at least tried. Instead you drank too much and told me to get over it, even though it was obvious you couldn't."

Okay, so he knew the helping part was asking a lot. Without Sam and Dean coming along to peel the ghost of Harry Warden off of him he would still be the guest of the nearest psychiatric ward. Nothing his dad could have done would have mattered.

"What Harry Warden did that night wasn't your fault Tom."

"No. Not completely. But the 'accident' in the mine was and let's face it; you'll always hate me for that because you'll always feel partly responsible for it."

"Tom."

"Why am I here, really?" He pinned his father with a look he'd picked up from Castiel. He may have only met the angel a few times, but he definitely made an impression each time.

Eli Hanniger shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I'm not as young as I once was. I can't do the things I need to do. It's time for you to come home and take up your responsibilities to the family business."

Tom rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to hide the grin that threatened to break out. "I already have taken up the family business Dad. It's just not the one that belongs to this side of the family."

His father looked confused and Tom sighed, because he had no intention of explaining it to him. "I'm sorry father, but what you want isn't going to happen. I have my own life now and it doesn't include this town or the mine."

His father pulled a file out of one of the drawers, slapped it down on top of the desk and opened it. "Your own life? You call this a life? Seedy motel rooms, bad food, purchases for ammo, rope, duct tape, spray paint, lighter fluid… Whatever this life is, it's not right."

Tom rubbed at the spot between his eyes to verify the sudden headache there. "What are you talking about?"

"I had the detective track down one of the names you've used. He got me the credit card statement for the purchases you made as Dr. Warren Chapin."

Tom wanted to growl. That was the ID he'd used a couple of hunts ago. The target had been a demon, one Tom exorcised. Unfortunately, the nineteen-year-old kid it possessed hadn't survived the injuries inflicted on him while being ridden. Tom ended up leaving the body in a ditch and calling in an anonymous 911 tip. It would be hell on the boy's family, but better than always wondering what happened to him.

"Where the hell did he get that name?"

"He said he found a driver's licence with it in your car. It had your picture on it." Hanniger Sr. paused a moment to catch his breath. "What kind of life is it when you have to use fake ID? How much trouble are you in Tom?"

Tom ignored the questions, more worried about the ID. He hoped Lanthom found it shortly before they met. Actually, he realized with some relief, he had to have. While the younger Hanniger disturbingly enough suspected his old man might sweep a dead kid in a ditch under a rug, Lanthom wasn't being paid enough to keep something like that quiet.

Damn, it was no longer just paranoia talking. Everything had to go. Well, except the car. He might not feel quite the same way about the Bronco that Dean felt about the Impala, but the car had seen him through some tough times. He wasn't letting go of it until there was no other choice.

"It was nice to see you again Dad. Let's not do this again anytime soon." Tom stood to leave.

His father stood as well, slamming his hands down on the desk as he did. "God damnit Tom, I'm dying."

Tom shut his eyes for a moment and nodded. "I know. Even if I couldn't tell just by looking at you, it was pretty much the only reason you'd drag me home."

"Tom, stay. Whatever's going on with you, I can fix it."

Tom shook his head. "I'm sorry Dad. It's not going to happen." He was at the door to the study when his Father pulled out what he obviously thought was the big guns.

"Damn it. If you walk out that door, you're cut off. You won't inherit a dime."

Tom nodded. "That's probably for the best." He looked back at his father and couldn't help the grin that twisted up one side of his lips at the shocked look on the old man's face. "Ben Foley's been your partner for years. Leave your shares to him. He actually cares about the mine and he'll do what's right for the people working it. Me, I'd sell it to the first person who agreed to upgrade."

"Not that argument again."

"No, I'm not arguing, just telling you the truth." He paused one more time. "I'm sorry this is the way it is, but I'm not willing to change it. Don't look for me again."

He ignored his Father's voice as it called out to him a couple of times on his way out of the house. He clamped down on his emotions as he got into the car and drove off. A few blocks later, he pulled over. Then everything was tears and pain as he beat the hell out of his steering wheel, doing more damage to his hands than the car. Exhausted, he slumped in his seat and wiped the dampness from his eyes. Twenty minutes after that he was driving out of town, stopping only long enough to toss his cell phone into the river as he crossed the bridge out of Harmony.

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Over the next few weeks, he erased every old identity he had. He also took a werewolf hunt single-handed. Okay, it wasn't the first time he'd hunted one by himself. However, it was the first time he'd almost beaten one to death without a weapon. It didn't help the anger inside of him. In fact, it left him feeling like a total bastard and he actually apologized before ramming a silver blade into the poor things heart.

The obituary watch wasn't doing him any good either. Ever since the meeting with his father, he kept an eye on The Daily Harmony's online newspaper. He gave it a couple of months before the tension he felt every time he logged on killed him.

Only it never got that far.

Three weeks after he met with his father, the man was dead. He didn't even have to check the paper's obituar. It was front-page news.

He spent the week after that drunk.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke, Warner Brothers and quite possibly others who are not mentioned here. My Bloody Valentine belongs to Lionsgate and no doubt others as well. No money will be made from this fan fiction.

Summary: A year and a half before his father died and he went home to sell the mine, Tom met up with two hunters in a motel. There's no way his reality could stay the same after that.

Author's note: I've never been able to find the name of the company that was buying Hanniger mines in the movie, so I've made up my own. Any similarity to any mining company is purely coincidental.

In and Out of Harmony

By Colleen

Chapter 10

If Bobby hadn't found him in a motel room at the end of his drunken lost week, it would have gone on much, much longer. As it was, Singer had to haul him bodily out of the bed he'd passed out on and propel him into the bathroom with the instructions to shower and brush his teeth. Tom was spitting and rinsing before his head cleared enough for him to wonder how Bobby found him.

He wasn't surprised the other hunter heard about Eli Hanniger's death. Bobby's information sources were vast and keeping an eye on Tom's only living relative other than Dean was to be expected. What he didn't anticipate was being tracked down when using an ID Bobby didn't know about yet.

Ten minutes later, Tom stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. He gave the glass of water and bottle of Tylenol Bobby held out to him a half hearted glare before accepting them and downing four of the tablets.

"How the hell did you find me?"

The older hunter shook his head. "Dean uses rock stars; you use characters from 1950's horror schlocks. I just kept plugging in names until I found Tony Rivers."

"Hey, 'I was a Teenage Werewolf' is a classic."

"Not saying it ain't, just telling you how I found you."

Tom gave him a grumpy face and sat down on the unmade bed.

"Idjit." Bobby sighed and sat down next to him. "Given you were drunk off your ass, I take it you heard about your Father."

Tom nodded. "Yeah."

"Don't mean to be insulting, but I'm surprised you're this broke up about it."

The younger man ran hand over his face and through his hair. "I probably wouldn't be, but he had a private eye track me down and drag me home a few weeks ago."

Bobby looked at him questioningly.

"Okay, I let the private eye drag me home after his third attempt to grab me." He shrugged. "Figured if he kept it up he'd eventually get lucky and I preferred to make the trip under my own power."

"Understandable. So, what did he want?"

"For me to come home and take over the family business."

Bobby winced. Sure, being a hunter was a piss poor way to live, but he knew enough about Tom to know that despite what peace he'd made with his past, spending everyday close to it would eventually kill him. Oh, he'd be walking around and talking, but give it a year or two and a zombie would have more life in him than mine owner Tom Hanniger would.

Even the messiest hunting death would be preferable.

"Pack your bags. You can come back with me and help with some research."

"Ah… Okay?"

Bobby snorted. "You need something to do. Something that won't get you killed. So pack."

"The last time I helped you with research, one of your books tried to eat me."

"And that's why I'm not letting you near that one again. Now pack."

"Alright, alright, bossy much?"

Bobby shook his head. Sometimes the boy reminded him of Dean in more than just looks.

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On February 2nd, Tom was sitting on the couch in Bobby's living room, a cup of coffee in one hand and a very old book in another. It was in English, but the style was ancient and he occasionally referenced the laptop next to him for a translation.

Bobby was at his desk, reading a similar book without the aid of translation and doing it much faster than Tom was.

Both men frowned when a knock came at the door. With a grunt, Tom put aside his book and levered himself out of Bobby's old couch. Whoever it was, knocked again before he could get there.

"Coming." He swung the door open with a slightly annoyed expression on his face.

The guy standing on the other side of it was either a lawyer or a demon.

"Tom Hanniger?"

Once again, Tom would have preferred demons.

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Bobby served the man a cup of coffee, heavy on the Holy water. When the lawyer didn't start smoking, he and Tom sat down to hear what he had to say.

"Mr. Hanniger, I'm here to discuss your father's will with you."

Tom gave a pained grunt, reminiscent of a man who'd taken something blunt upside the head. "How the hell did you find me?"

"I was simply given this address. I believe we got it from a file your father was keeping on you."

"Crap." Tom had the sinking feeling that Lanthom wasn't' the first private eye his father sent his way. Made him wonder if dear old dad knew about the mental institutions.

Bobby didn't look very happy about that piece of new either.

"Now, about your father's will."

Tom shook his head. "He disowned me."

The lawyer paused. "When did he do that?"

Tom shrugged. "Not certain, but he told me he was going to do it the last time I saw him, at the end of December."

"Ah, well, he never sought an appointment with our firm to change the will or the trusts." Understanding Tom's frown, he explained. "Several of the bequests were set up as living trusts, to avoid the delays of probate. He released them just before his death."

Tom rubbed at his eyes and forehead and resisted the temptation to hide his face in his hands. "Okay, let's hear it."

"I, Eli Hanniger, being of sound…"

Tom held up a hand. "How about the highlights version."

With a sigh, the lawyer flipped to the next page of the will.

"Your father left the house and most of the contents to the Harmony Historical Society."

Tom let out a relieved breath. He hadn't relished the idea of dealing with the house and contents, even if it was just to sell it.

"There is also a bequest to his friend and partner Ben Foley, consisting of a Rolls Royce automobile, several items of a personal nature that I can itemize if you wish..."

Tom shook his head no.

"And a living trust for shares in The Hanniger Mine that represents ten percent of the companies total shares."

Tom frowned.

"His last non-family bequest is to former sheriff James Burke and is a living trust in the amount of one million dollars, in thanks for the actions that saved his son's life." The lawyer paused to glance up from the paper. "Apparently your father has been putting one hundred thousand dollars a year into the trust for the last ten years."

Tom grimaced, but nodded.

"Now. To my son, Tom Hanniger, I leave any items he may wish to have from the house, to be chosen before the Historical Society takes ownership of it. Along with that, I leave him the bulk of my estate. All moneys, stocks and bonds I posses at the time of my death. I also leave him a living trust containing the balance of the Hanniger mine shares, which should represent a controlling interest in the company."

Tom gave in, buried his face in his hands and groaned.

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He lost track of how many times he signed his name before the paper work was complete. Then he had to open a bank account in his real name, so eventually the funds he inherited that weren't in the trust could be transferred into it. He also got a safe deposit box for the paperwork. He used the same bank in Sioux Falls that Bobby did for the initial set up, planning to move some of the funds to other names and accounts later.

The lawyer opened his briefcase to pull out one last thing. "I've been asked to pass this on to you. The Blayco mining concern is interested in purchasing The Hanninger Mine and adding it to its holdings." He passed him a very thick offer to purchase document.

Tom flipped through it quickly, taking a moment to blink at the amount offered, before passing it over to Bobby.

The lawyer gave them a few minutes before subtly clearing his throat to get their attention.

"If you like, I can set up a meeting with them."

Even though he outright told his father he would sell the mine if he left it to him, Tom hesitated, unwilling to rush into anything.

And Bobby apparently thought there was something more important to worry about.

"When does the Historical Society take possession of the house?"

"The will must clear probate first, although I don't think it will take all that long as no one appears to be contesting it. Ben Foley was named executor, so it might be best to check with him about that."

Tom frowned a question at Bobby. The older hunter gave him a look that said to ask later.

"So, should I set up a meeting with Blayco Mining?" The lawyer asked, interrupting them.

"No." Tom said. "I'll want to talk some things over with Ben first."

"Of course." He handed him a card. "If you need any assistance, just call me."

Tom took the card and nodded.

Once the lawyer was shown out and made his way off the property, Bobby answered the question about the house.

"Your grandmother was a Campbell. A trained hunter that came from a long line of hunters. I know she gave it up when she married your grandfather, but we have to consider the possibility that she might have left things behind you wouldn't want a volunteer history buff coming across accidentally."

Tom groaned. "This day just keeps getting better and better."

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Early in the evening of February 6th, Ben Foley set the box of his best friend's ashes on the shelf behind his desk and sighed. He hadn't expected Tom to show up for the memorial service, but he'd hoped. Pouring himself a drink, he sat down at his desk and started going through the messages the maid took while he was out.

Most of them were condolences. Two of them were from fucking Blayco mining. One was from Eli's lawyers, about final paperwork for the trust Eli left him. And one... was from Tom. He'd left a contact number and a message, saying he needed to talk to him about the offer from Blayco Mining.

Reaching out blindly, he fumbled the phone off the hook and started punching in the number.

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On February the 4th, Blayco Mining had not endeared itself to Bobby when two of its representatives appeared at his front door, looking for Tom. He also wasn't too happy with the lawyers, because for Blayco to find Tom meant either the attorney was followed out to Bobby's, or someone in the firm was leaking information.

Realizing Singer was frustrated and just itching to fill the two reps with rock salt; Tom took them up on their offer of lunch and got them off Bobby's property.

Lunch was an attempt to impress him. Even for a city of over 150,000 people, Sioux Falls boasted an impressive number of restaurants that ran the gambit from greasy spoon to elegant dining room and they didn't take him to a greasy spoon.

The two reps, one male, one female and both too good looking for the effect to be completely natural, plied him with alcohol while explaining what a fabulous deal he would be making by selling to Blayco. Tom had to admit, in another life he would have been ready to sell by dessert.

Now though...

He spent the next two days thinking about it. After the first day, Bobby got tired of his emo ass and pointed him in the direction of a hunt in North Dakota. The drive helped him think and that was why he called Ben Foley on the second day. As the executor of his father's will and the holder of the next largest block of shares in the mine, the man had a better grasp of the situation than Tom did.

Of course, Ben calling back while a ghost was tossing Tom across a basement wasn't exactly the best of timing.

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Tom stood up, his body objecting to the motion painfully. His phone was ringing, but other than mentally kicking himself for not turning the thing off, he chose to ignore it, at least long enough to empty the second barrel of rock salt into the ghost of a pissed off architect. Apparently, his boss hadn't liked the guy's designs much. That or he hadn't liked the architect's designs on his wife. Either way, the guy ended up buried under the concrete floor of the last house he helped develop.

Tom might have felt sorry for the guy; if it wasn't for the fact he'd already avenged his own death, killing his killer. He should have moved on, but instead was still hanging around, lashing out and slaughtering anyone stupid enough to go down into the basement alone at night.

Like Tom had.

Actually, Tom spent the afternoon there with a jackhammer, crow bar and shovel, digging up the body. The whole time, he hadn't seen any sign of the ghost. There wasn't even much EMF.

Then the sun went down.

His phone stopped ringing for about ten seconds, before starting up again. With a growl, he fished it out of his pocket, staggering back to the grave to pick up his crow bar at the same time. The name on the screen caused him to hesitate and instead of turning it off, he hit answer, tucking the phone up to his ear with his shoulder so he could also pick up a container of salt.

"Tom? It's Ben Foley, I'm returning your call."

The ghost popped up in front of Tom and he whipped the crowbar through it, dispersing it.

"Hey, Ben… Um, I'm a little busy at the moment." He poured the salt onto the exposed body. "Do you think I could call you back in a few minutes?" Tom turned towards the cold spot behind him, tossing what he had left of the salt at it. The reforming ghost screamed silently, disappearing once more.

"Sure, sure. I'll be waiting for your call."

Tom dropped the salt container and picked up the lighter fluid. "Thanks." He ended the call and quickly covered the body with the accelerant. A moment later, he was flying one way, his phone staying behind when the ghost heaved him across the room. Tom hit the floor, rolled and came back to his feet. Pulling out an iron knife, he started patting his pockets down for a pack of matches. The ghost reappeared, doing that semi-teleport across the room thing to take up a guard position in front of its body. With a shrug, Tom tossed his iron knife at it. He was dropping the lit matches into the grave just as it reformed. Even though there was no heat from it, he took a step back as the ghost appeared to catch fire before abruptly winking out of existence.

Sadly, the same wasn't to be said for the real fire. Swearing softly, he gathered his scattered stuff, including his phone. He left the jackhammer. He didn't have time to carry it out and it couldn't be traced to him, as he'd rented under a fake name on a soon to be dead credit card.

He drove quietly out of the neighbourhood, two fire engines passing him as they responded to the 911 call he made on the way out with his now slightly cracked, but still serviceable phone. With any luck, the house would take a little smoke and water damage, but wouldn't be a complete loss.

It was another ten minutes before he remembered to call Ben back.

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Ben was beginning to believe Tom was blowing him off, when his phone rang. "Tom?"

"Hey Ben. Sorry about earlier, kind of had my hands full."

"No problem. I was hoping you'd phone. The funeral was today."

"Yeah, I know. Not why I called though."

Ben heaved out a sigh. "Blayco Mining."

"Yeah. It's an impressive offer."

"One that will screw over the entire town if you take it."

"Maybe… I want to call a shareholder's meeting. I think the offer has to be looked at."

Ben shook his head. "You're the major shareholder Tom. If you decide to sell the mine, there is nothing we can do about it."

"I know, but I figure you should at least get the chance to explain to me why we shouldn't sell. I might actually listen."

Ben was honestly shocked. Ever since he found out Eli left the majority of the mine to Tom, he'd figured his and Harmony's time was limited, especially with Blayco looking to buy.

"Okay then. I think I can get everyone together on the 11th, at 7 o'clock. We can hold the meeting at the offices in the conference room, assuming you're willing to come into town. I don't think you've been back since you left ten years ago."

Tom's laugh startled him. "Actually, I've been back a couple of times. Guess Dad didn't mention the last one."

"Uh no, he didn't."

"Figures. Okay, February 11th, 7pm."

"If you're in earlier you could meet me at my place, have supper."

There was a lot of silence on the other side of the line.

"What the hell, sure, say five thirty?"

"Yeah, that would be good."

"Okay, see you then."

Ben hung up the phone and turned his chair so he could glare at the box holding his friends ashes. "Just what didn't you tell me, Eli?"

He didn't know how lucky he was he didn't get an answer.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke, Warner Brothers and quite possibly others who are not mentioned here. My Bloody Valentine belongs to Lionsgate and no doubt others as well. No money will be made from this fan fiction.

Summary: A year and a half before his father died and he went home to sell the mine, Tom met up with two hunters in a motel. There's no way his reality could stay the same after that.

Author's note: We now reach the movie. Some things will be the same, some wont. Some will seem the same, but there's different, stranger things going on behind the scenes.

In and Out of Harmony

By Colleen

Chapter 11

Everyone in the Harmony Diner chuckled. On the television, a pre-recorded Sheriff Axel Palmer chewed out the latest reporter come to town. Every year it seemed a new one would drag a camera crew into Harmony, looking to dredge up all the Valentine's Day murder crap.

After the second bleeped out swear word, Ben Foley spoke up. "Eloquent sheriff. You make us look like an inbred mining community."

The sheriff, who was sitting at one of the booths savouring a cup of coffee as he watched the news report, glanced over at him with an amused expression on his face. "We are an inbred mining community, Ben."

Deputy Martin came in then, looking for a cup of coffee and watched as the two men kibitz back and forth. Axel's wife Sarah innocently broke it up by stopping by to remind her husband to pick their son Noah up from soccer that night.

On her way out the door, a young woman who worked for Sarah at the grocery store stopped her, asking if it was all right to be late that morning as she had a doctor's appointment.

Sarah told Megan to come in when she could, not noticing as her husband's and the girl's eye met as she left the diner.

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An hour later, in an old boarded up house in the woods Axel inherited from his father, he and Megan found their scattered clothes and dressed.

Megan dug a heart shaped box of chocolates out of the messed up blankets.

"Figure you'll be with Sarah on Valentines, so..." She handed him the box and a card.

He opened the card, reading the message there. 'To my Axel. Be mine 4 ever. Your Megan.'

"I ah… I didn't get you anything."

Megan smiled. "You don't need to. You already have." She moved in to whisper in his ear.

"I'm pregnant."

Smiling, she bounced away to find the rest of her clothes, not really noticing the troubled look on Axel's face.

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Tom crossed the bridge into Harmony for the third time in ten years and thought that for a town he never intended to come back to, he sure seemed to visit regularly.

Since he was early, he stopped at the mine on the way in, staying just long enough to see that everything was running the way it should. He couldn't help but give tunnel five an extra long look. He and his cousins got rid of Harry Warden's ghost, but Tom still felt the weight of responsibility when it came to how one screw up (gigantic screw up) could cause so much pain and suffering. He really didn't want to carry the guilt for all the people Harry Warden killed, but if he'd just done his job that day, then none of what followed would have happened.

He couldn't even justify shuffling the blame onto his father anymore. Sure, the mine needed updating, with safeguards that might have prevented what happened. However, looking back, Tom knew he'd been a cocky kid and would eventually have screwed something up. He just wished his lesson in youthful arrogance hadn't been paid for in lives.

Tom hunched his shoulders up around his ears and headed back to his car. To use one of Dean's terms, the place felt like it was bad touching him. If he had to hang around for very long, he'd probably end up back in therapy and there were a lot of monsters he'd be more comfortable taking on than doing that again. Besides, seven years of that crap had been more than enough and in the end it had been two hunters and a salt and burn that did him the most good.

It took him the entire trip over to Ben's place for his shoulders to un-kink.

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Ben hung up the phone and swore. Half the shareholders coming in from the East Coast... weren't. A freak snowstorm was grounding everything out of there for the next day or two. He swore again, when he heard a knock at the front door.

Tom was on time for dinner.

Waiving the maid off, Ben went to answer the door himself.

"Tom." He said as he let the young man in.

"Ben." Tom frowned. "Is something the matter?"

The older man was a little surprised by the question. The Tom he remembered hadn't been the most perceptive of people. "You could say that." He showed him into the study. "Drink?"

Tom nodded. "Sure."

Ben poured each of them a whiskey and they settled into the chairs in front of the desk.

"Okay Ben, what's up?"

"Half our shareholders are trapped on the East Coast."

"Ah, I heard the radio talking about a major storm out there." Tom sipped at his drink, which was a hell of a lot better alcohol than the stuff Bobby stocked.

"The meeting will have to be delayed." Ben told him. "Tomorrow or Saturday might be possible, but Monday's more likely."

Tom looked vaguely disgusted. "Monday, great."

"I'm going to have to call a couple of people, let them know."

Tom gestured to him to go ahead and spent the time studying the pictures on the fireplace mantle.

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Dinner that night was an excellent steak, salad and baked potato affair, after which they ended up in the study with another whiskey. Ben picked up the box of Eli Hanniger's ashes and placed them on the desk.

Tom swallowed the whiskey with a slight cough. "I thought they would have interred those at the funeral."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "It was more of a memorial service. Besides, he left a letter asking for you to see to that."

Tom shook his head. "Stubborn bastard." He wondered if anyone would notice if he added a bit of salt to those ashes. Better safe than sorry after all.

Ben raised his other eyebrow. "You said you were back a couple of times and your Dad knew?"

Tom laughed. "The second time, yeah. First time…" He smiled. "First time back I came through with a couple of cousins. Showed them the sights, but we didn't go see anyone."

"Cousins?" Tom could tell he'd startled him.

"Yep. Turns out Grandma Hanniger had a brother. He had a kid, who had more kids. The oldest one and me, we look a lot alike. Heck, their Mom and Grandma Marylyn could have passed as twins if they'd been born at the same time."

"So, where are they now?"

Tom winced. "Sam, the younger one, he died in a… ah, cave in, on a job he was working. Dean, he moved to Indiana to be with his girlfriend. He's working construction now." Tom shrugged. "I stopped by and saw him at Christmas."

"So, when did you see your Father?"

Tom gave him a wry little smile. "New Years Eve. Wasn't by choice either. Dad hired a private eye to track me down and drag me home. It didn't go well."

"Did he tell you he was dying?" Ben couldn't help the angry note in his voice.

Tom stood up and put his empty glass down on the desk. "Yeah, he did." Was his quiet answer. He picked up the box of ashes. "I'll see about dealing with this tomorrow."

Ben stood as well. "You're welcome to spend the night."

Tom smiled but shook his head. "Nah, I've got it covered. Night."

He felt a definite sense of relief once he was back in his car and driving away. He'd sleep in the Bronco if he had too. Staying with Ben, with someone who knew him when he was younger and judged him by those past actions, it would send him right round the twist.

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On paper, Tom was a wealthy man, but in reality, he had a couple hundred dollars and a bunch of credit cards he couldn't use in a town where everyone knew who he was. If he wanted a bed, it would have to be cheap and it was too late to look for someplace to squat.

That's why he opted for the Thunderbird. With any luck, Mayla still owned the place and he could talk her into a cut rate on a room.

There were only a couple of trucks and a few cars parked outside the motel when he got there. On his way to the office, a small dog ran out, panting. His owner wasn't far behind him.

"Lewis, get back here this instant. Lewis."

Tom scooped the dog up and gave him a look before turning to the owner, who may have been the shortest person he'd ever met.

"Is Mayla around?"

"God, I hope not. Mayla's been dead for seven years."

Not surprising, she'd been older than his dad, after all.

"Trade you the pooch for a room."

She gave him a look not unlike the one he'd given the dog. "Alright, come on."

She gave him room number four and charged him $35.00, which appeared to be the going rate. Naturally, he paid cash.

Walking down to his room, he couldn't help but notice someone was having a very good time and apparently wanted to share it with everyone, as they hadn't closed their curtains. Tom would have to be a saint not to look. He shook his head and smiled as he realized he knew one of the participants. A few more steps took him to the door of his room, which unfortunately was right next to the noisy one.

Maybe he should have slept in the car after all.

Entering, he dropped his duffle bag on a chair and sat down on the bed. It was a work of a moment to take off his boots and jacket. Curling up on the bed, he pulled his jacket over him and rather unsuccessfully attempted to use his pillow to dampen the sound. With any luck, the happy couple wouldn't be staying the entire night.

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As Frank dressed and more or less ignored her, Irene was still sitting naked on the bed, explaining the origin of the Valentine's Day card. He answered automatically as he slipped on his wedding ring before reaching down to fish out something hidden in a towel. The fact that he did it in front of a giant mirror showed that he lacked stealth, or just didn't give a shit.

"Watcha doing?" The smile on her face fell away as she realized he was holding a video camera.

"Nothing, I've got this." He said, still mostly ignoring her.

"Frank? What the fuck is that?" She stood up with one hand at her waist and one leg still on the bed.

He gave her a nervous laugh. "Irene, I make these for my personal collection." He reached for his wallet. "Look I'll, pay you?"

"I am no hooker."

He tossed some money at her. "You are now." With a smile on his face, he left the room and walked towards his semi-truck.

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Tom snapped awake from a light doze when he heard Irene yelling.

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Naked, except for a pair of high-heeled shoes, Irene followed Frank out to his truck with the gun she kept in her purse.

"Give me the fucking tapes or I swear. I swear…"

"Irene, two things. One, I don't want you anymore and two, I know the gun isn't loaded."

"No, but this one is."

Irene moved over slightly as Tom came around the back of the truck with a sawed off shotgun in his hands.

Somehow, that finally got Frank's attention.

"Hey now, lets not do anything stupid." Frank's hands went up in a placating manner.

Tom smirked at him. "I think you've already done enough stupid for all of us."

"Tom?"

He gave the naked woman next to him a quick glance. "Hey Irene, you're looking… good."

"Holy crap, Tom." Irene stared at him in utter amazement.

He gave her another look, keeping it above her chest and smiled before turning his attention back to Frank.

"Give her the tapes."

Frank shook his head. "You're not really going to shoot me."

Tom's eyebrows went up into his hairline. "You're kidding me, right. I mean, I'm about ready to shoot you on general principal, never mind if you don't do what I tell you."

Frank lowered his hands. "Nah, you won't do it." He turned his back on Tom, moving to open the door of his truck.

"You stupid son of a bitch." Tom said, and pulled the trigger.

Irene screamed at the noise of it, and Frank went down with a holler.

Tom walked over to him and picked up the video camera.

"Holy fuck, you shot me."

"Yeah, rock salt. Stings like a bitch, and I ought to know." He reached up and opened the door to Frank's truck.

"Irene, you'll have to check for the other tapes."

Her shoes made a fast clipping noise as she walked over and hoisted herself into the truck.

Frank was trying to sit up. Tom stuffed the video camera under one of his arms. Pulling his handgun out from where he'd tucked into the back of his jeans, he squatted down beside the trucker.

"By the way, this shoots lead, so I suggest you stay there for the moment. Soon as she's done, you can pick yourself up and get yourself out of here. Oh, and you might want to stop by the hospital and get them to pick the salt out of your ass. It looks like your pants caught the worst of the blast, but what's in there will make sitting hard for a while."

Irene came out of the truck with a couple of mini tapes in her hand. She slammed the door shut and glared at him.

"Hey." Frank managed to get to his knees. "Those ones don't have you in them."

Tom winced. The man was too stupid for words.

Irene gripped the tapes a little tighter. "Fine, you want them back, then bring me mine. You come back for anything else and I'll cut your dick off."

As Tom and Irene started to walk away, he handed her the video camera and the current tape. Behind him, he heard Frank stand and take a step towards him. He turned and simply looked at the trucker.

Apparently, Frank wasn't a complete idiot, because this time he must have correctly read what was in Tom's eyes. He backed up a step, and then fumbled for the semi's door, finally getting it open so he could painfully haul himself into his truck.

Tom escorted Irene back to the walkway that ran along the front of the motel. He kept a steady eye on Frank's truck until it drove out of sight.

"Um." He looked at a very naked Irene and cast his eyes upward, a little annoyed to feel his cheeks heat up in a blush. "Well, goodnight." He turned to head to his room.

"Wait."

Tom paused.

"You… maybe want to get some breakfast… You know, in the morning?"

He gave her another quick glance and a smile. "Sure." He went into his room and quietly closed the door.

Irene just stood there a moment longer. "Holy crap, Tom Hanniger."

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Frank stopped at a gas station with a convenience store, bought a pair of tweezers and a mirror, using both of them in the bathroom to pull the salt out of his butt. It wasn't actually the first time he'd taken a round of rock salt to that part of him; however, the last time was when he was a teenager.

"Stupid fucking bitch and stupid fucking nosy bastards." He considered reporting the guy to the police, but remembered one of Irene's lame conversations about previous lovers. Mainly the one about how the guy she dated in high school, who she was still friends with, was now the Sheriff.

Still grumbling, he finished cleaning himself up and covered the wounds with a pain relief antibiotic cream he'd brought in with him. Driving was going to be a bitch for the next few days

When he got back to his truck, there was a young, hot girl, in her early 20s, standing beside it.

"Hey, would you be able to give me a ride across the bridge?"

Frank snorted, about to tell her hell no.

"I give great head."

Has it been mentioned before that Frank can be something of an idiot, especially when it comes to sex?

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As far as Sheriff Palmer was concerned, six am was way too early to have to deal with stupid crap. Sadly, that didn't change the fact that he was standing on the bridge, staring at a semi truck and trailer that someone apparently parked and walked away from. With a frown, he walked over to the bridge's railing and looked over it into the river below.

"Crap."

"Think someone decided to end it all last night?" His deputy asked as he stepped up to the railing with him.

"Could be." Axel made an annoyed sound. "Call in everybody you can. We'll need a few men on each shore and a couple in the boat." It wasn't the first time they'd had to search the river for a possible jumper, but it was always a pain. "Oh, and I guess we'll need a tow truck, one that can handle a semi."

"Already called about it. There's one coming in from Kansas City. Should be here in a couple of hours.

They both grimaced. Morning rush hour wasn't huge in a town like Harmony, but it was still going to be a pain.

"I'll post Kelwood on traffic duty." Deputy Martin said. "With any luck they'll have this thing out of here before the school buses come through.

Palmer nodded, agreeing with his Deputies choice. The rookie was still green enough he'd probably fall into the river himself if he had to search along it.

"Have him head to the office once they're done. He can cover calls while everyone's on search patrol. Oh, and warn the coroner there might be a body by the end of the day."

The deputy nodded. 'On it.'

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Neither Tom nor Irene rushed the next morning, so it was a little after nine thirty when they both checked out. As they each had their own car, they drove down to the Harmony diner.

"Coffee. Lots and lots of coffee," Tom said as he held out his cup to the waitress. Irene did the same.

Tom ordered the basic bacon, egg, hash brown and toast breakfast with a short stack on the side. Irene gave him a disgusted look and ordered a fruit cup along with a bagel and light cream cheese.

"So Irene, how have you been?"

"How have I been? Oh no, there is no way we're starting with me."

Tom looked confused, causing Irene to give him a very unladylike snort of derision.

"Ten years Tom. Where the hell have you been?"

"Mostly no place good."

"Keep answering like that and I'm going to stab you with my fork."

He laughed and shook his head. "I spent most of it trying to get my head on straight. Only happened because I ran into family I never knew existed."

"Family?"

"Cousins. Anyway, they helped me more or less find myself and then little by little I kind of got involved with the family business. I've been doing that for the last couple of years."

She narrowed her eyes at him and he had to chuckle. "It's mostly research. A mix of historical and current events. There's a lot of time spent with dusty old books and a computer, usually followed by a short time in the field making sure you got it right."

"And this is a family business?"

"Yeah, on Grandmother Hanniger's side. Apparently they've been doing this going way back."

"Huh."

He shrugged.

"Okay, so how come you're back?"

He grimaced. "Shareholder's meeting, for the mine. Now that my father's gone, we need to discuss what direction we want to go in."

She slapped a hand to her forehead. "Of course, I was sorry to hear about your Daddy."

Tom wasn't comfortable with condolences, but he'd accept them from an old friend. "Thanks."

"So, are you going to be hanging around for a while?"

He shook his head. "No, only until after the meeting, then I'm gone. One thing I've learned being away, I don't belong here and the mine isn't the right life for me."

"Darn."

"Sorry. So, that's me. How have you been?"

With a smile that practically said 'you asked for it', Irene told him. Of the last ten years, there was very little she left out.


End file.
